


Only Stardust

by TeddyKrueger



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Anxiety, Astronomy Nerds, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Depression, Does this count as hurt comfort?, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay Keith (Voltron), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Orphan Keith (Voltron), Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, idk but it's going in, klance, musician keith, writer lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-04-05 11:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 58,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14043720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeddyKrueger/pseuds/TeddyKrueger
Summary: “However, where there are ends, there are also beginnings. New stars.” The screen focuses on a small light, pulsing with energy. “In space it’s freezing, but some parts are so cold that molecules come together and build something powerful.“Space changes constantly. Each time you look in the sky, you’re probably seeing a new star or planet and you don’t even know. There are endings and there are beginnings that go on right before our eyes, if only you know where to look.” He bows dramatically and the lights go up. “Thank you.”The observatory didn’t have much in the way of content, but it had something, which made it worth visiting. I didn’t see that content. I only saw him. I only heard his voice.____AKA The story of a college dropout navigating his lost dreams, a self-inflicted isolation, and a chaotic group of people he can't manage to shake.





	1. 20 Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Song:** _20 Years_ by Bad Suns

* * *

_Red constellation_  
_Will you fade as you decay?_  
_Or will you blast open a thousand stars_  
_And take our breath away?_

* * *

The one thing I appreciate most about moving to Altea is the sun. Instead of buying a wardrobe for each season, I can wear a t-shirt and jeans combo that lasts me the majority of the year. Even at night I rarely get cold. The remnants of the heat stick around long after the sun goes down, creating never-ending summer nights.

The one thing I appreciate least about moving to Altea is the sun.

Of all days, my A/C decides to die on me during my first day off in weeks. The local energy company isn’t all that local, which means there’s no way it’s going to get fixed until the end of the day. They couldn’t care less about the outskirts of their oh-so precious city. Lucky us.

I lift my arm just enough to see my phone screen. It’s just past one. It’s only been a couple hours since the blackout started. Super. The odds of the temperature going down by much in the next few hours are slim. I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to keep myself from melting into the couch before it cools down. Damn Shiro’s affinity for faux leather seating.

I’ve been trying to take naps this whole time, but it’s not working. Usually the hot weather can lull me to sleep, but, again, I’m not so lucky. Staying here is starting to look like a dangerous decision. I could take shelter in a nearby business, though. Somewhere has gotta have a backup generator or something, right?

I peel myself off the couch, sweat slicking the surface in the shape of my lower back. I try wiping it off, but only succeed in drenching my hand. I rub it off onto my jeans, then make my way to the bedroom. I search for my leather jacket and my helmet and find the former peeking out from under my bed, and the latter kicked under my piano stand. I pat the jacket pockets, hoping I didn’t leave my key and wallet in some pair of jeans, and feel the familiar bulge and a jingle. Success.

The thought of putting on a leather jacket knowing full well how it heats up makes me sweat harder, but safety first. I can hear Shiro activating dad voice in my head already. Luckily he's in England working on his PhD. Last time I neglected to wear it, he decided showing me examples of road rash was a great idea. Let's just say I haven't forgotten my jacket since.

I suck it up and slip my arms into the sleeves, making my way to the garage. There I find my bike in all its glory. I wouldn’t say I’m a fanatic, but I’m interested enough in motorbikes to the point where I learned how to fix one up. The ol’ girl was a wreck when I found her, but digging around in junkyards and hitting up auto shops let me find the parts to get her going. It’s been a couple years and she’s still running smooth.

I jump on and let myself out of the garage doors. Once I’m on the road, I’m flying. The rush of wind fills my nose with the ocean, its scent alone cooling the air around me. I can feel the sweat turn from unbearable to relief as it reduces in temperature. No matter how many times I ride, I always feel the heat rise in my stomach. It’s as if I realize for the first time the person I love loves me, and I can’t help but be a bundle of nerves.

It takes me a few minutes before I realize I’m supposed to stop someplace, but where? I’ve been living in Altea for about seven years now and there’s an exclusive club of places I visit when I exit my tomb. I need something to kill time, not just somewhere to hang out.

The best place to go would be the school, except there’s no way that’s happening. Hitting up the university after all this time would be like visiting a retired club member: it was retired for a reason. The convenience store is...too convenient. The beach is crowded. Oh wait.

The observatory just outside the university is a solid spot. The ride over will take some time too, since it’s on the other side of town. No doubt anything in the city is going to be the first to get service. They probably even have a backup generator in case anything like this happens. It’s worth a shot.

I take a U-turn and head in the direction of the university. Behind the buildings of glass and steel, I see the dome peeking above, its telescope aiming somewhere far above my head. Some planet was getting full exposure today. If aliens knew about their personal paparazzi, I wonder if they’d be embarrassed.

The parking lot is empty save a couple cars near the entrance in the employee spots and some others are sprinkled nearby. I park in the second row and immediately rip off my jacket. No way I’m letting the sweating start up again. 

When I open the doors, the smell of floor cleaner hits my nose. No doubt they weren’t expecting many people in, so they’re cleaning up early. It _is_ an hour from closing. At least they brought out a sign. I test walking on it and it seems dry enough. I can’t trust it completely, so I take several steps with caution, but eventually I walk like normal. 

I’ve been here a million times since moving. Whether it has more to do with the lack of activities around town or my interest in the universe, I don’t know, but I’m here nonetheless. 

I glance at the exhibits as I make my way toward the planetarium. Every time I sit down to a presentation, I ignore the speaker and instead identify planets and stars I didn’t see the last time. Sometimes it’s a blue supergiant, small compared to the other stars, but undeniably hot and bright. Sometimes it’s an asteroid belt I ignored while looking for said planets and stars. How could something so dull look so...cool? And sometimes it’s just the sun. Familiar. Constant. 

This time, however, I’m having a bit of trouble concentrating. Typically the presenter is some older guy who knows no one’s listening so the energy of the room drops below zero. He drones on and on, using the same script even though I know they don’t have to. I’ve seen them do their own thing every once in a while.

This guy, on the other hand, is far too into his job. 

“Welcome to Altea Observatory’s Planetarium Experience!” he starts, his voice smooth despite the energy firing from every inch of his body. “I’m Lance McClain, it is my pleasure to introduce you to the wonder that is space. Now, let me tell you about the universe.” On “universe”, the background music swells, a light vibration running through the seats. I feel a tingle on the back of my neck. The video moves to an animated image of our solar system.

“We all know our solar system, right? It starts with our sun. Always here with us. Always in our sight. Even when it hides behind the moon, it shines through, reminding us all of its constant presence.” The imagery switches again to a sea of stars, then focuses on one in particular. A red giant.

“While our sun keeps going and going...and going, other stars reach the end of their lifespans and turn into red giants. At the absolute end, they choose a way to go out: implode and fade, or take out other stars nearby and cause supernova explosions.” He chuckles.

That guy going out quietly is impossible. It’s been ten minutes and I already know that much.

“Blue supergiants are similar, but they’re way more cool in my opinion. Compared to red giants, they’re a thousand times hotter, brighter, and they rotate extremely fast. They’d make racecars look like tortoises in comparison.” The blue supergiant that was already showing starts changing colors. It goes from red, to yellow, to blue, and every color in-between. “Even better, they can change color over time.”

He then transitions to talking about the minor points of the show. Apparently Altea Observatory is more fascinated by the death and destruction in space than the creation of new entities. I get it. Too many kids and too little explosions does not a happy audience make. Still didn’t help their attendance.

“However, where there are ends, there are also beginnings. New stars.” The screen focuses on a small light, pulsing with energy. “In space it’s freezing, but some parts are so cold that molecules come together and build something powerful.

“Space changes constantly. Each time you look in the sky, you’re probably seeing a new star or planet and you don’t even know. There are endings and there are beginnings that go on right before our eyes, if only you know where to look.” He bows dramatically and the lights go up. “Thank you.”

The observatory didn’t have much in the way of content, but it had something, which made it worth visiting. I didn’t see that content. I only saw him. I only heard his voice. 

I stay in my seat after the lights come up and check my phone. Not even two o’clock. Without a line outside, there’s no incentive to kick me out, so I put my headphones in and watch the ceiling. The projector runs no matter if there’s a show or not, which means I can still explore the universe without someone ruining my concentration. It’s not as vast, but it does the job.

I feel a tap on my shoulder. 

I look up to find a grinning face. The presenter is staring down at me, his bubbliness decreased ten notches, but his energy remains the same. 

“Yeah?” I ask.

“You like my show that much?” His grin gets wider.

I raise an eyebrow. “Sure?” What the hell does this dude want? He keeps me from paying attention to the show and now he’s interrupting the only extra star-watching time I have. Seriously. Bring. Back. The. Old. Guys.

He pushes my knees back into my stomach so he can flop down into the seat next to me. He puts his head back and tilts it my way.

“It’s okay if you’re my fan. I love all my fans.”

What is even happening.

“You know, I’ll make an exception. I’ll let you be my fran.” He shoots me finger guns. I just look at him, not sure what I’m seeing.

He waits for a reply, but I have nothing. “You know...my friend. Who’s a fan. Fran.”

“I don’t need to be a…’fran’?”

“Of course you do! It’s an exclusive club. Join.”

I narrow my eyes. I’m almost absolutely sure I’m not on drugs, so is this the heat talking? Did it fry my brain to the point where I’m hearing things? Is this dude even here? I blink hard. Nope. Still there.

“I’m not even sure how to respond to you.”

His smile gets cocky and he sits up, holding a hand out to me. “Lance McClain. Astronomer. Builder of universes. Hero of Altea Observatory.”

I lift my hand tentatively and shake his, but don’t grip it. Not like I need to. He’s gripping it for me. I expected his palms to be more rough--he seems like the outdoorsy type what with his interest in stars--but instead they’re smooth. They smell like honey and something that’s chocolate but not quite. When he pulls away, it lingers on my own hands, which are calloused all to hell.

“What does ‘Builder of universes’ mean anyway?” I ask. “I don’t know any job here that you have to build anything.”

“My entire life isn’t inside this building, mullet-head,” he says, reaching out to ruffle my hair. I swat his hand away, not entirely gently. I ignore the fact that he didn’t answer my question in the slightest.

He places his hand on his chest, leans back, and gasps. “With hair like that how could you _not_ want people to touch it? This is astounding!”

I repeat my previous question: _what the hell does this dude want?_

“What do you want?” I ask, glancing back and forth between him and the exit. As much as this guy is a freakin’ enigma, this exchange is not going well enough for me to sacrifice my limited energy. I hear my headphones mumbling some acoustic guitar chords, for once not calming me at all.

Lance quirks his mouth to one side. “Have you seen this place? It’s dead. The only people who come through here are people who visit with family and student groups. You seem too comfortable with the place and you’re on your own. So I want to know what makes an upstanding 80s impersonator want to hang out in a planetarium all day.”

He’s not wrong. About the place being dead, not about the 80s impersonator part. I’m not even sure how the place is still running half the time. I heard once that it’s affiliated with the university and it gets private donations for research purposes, but no one visits the place for the most part. I don’t remember the last time I’ve come to see the stars and the room be full. I like it that way, though. When students come in, no matter the age, they’re always too much. Too bored. Too loud. Too obnoxious. As much as I like the place and want other people to like it, too, I prefer it as is. 

“Not saying there’s anything wrong with that,” he continues. “I’m here _all the time._ ”

“But you work here?”

“Do you ever make sentences that don’t end in question marks?”

“Do you ever stop asking questions?”

“Nope!”

“Lance. I need you to clean the bathrooms before we close up,” a guy around our age says from the archway I’m dying to escape to. He’s wearing the same uniform as Lance.

“Oh, come on! I thought I was off the hook for that, Matt,” he whines. 

The man chuckles. “Count yourself on the hook.”

Lance groans, sinking down in his seat. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen a guy my age pout like that. I can see the strain from the force he’s using to push his lips out. He’s making this high-pitched noise that’s coming from the back of his throat. It’s impressive, honestly. Still. It’s annoying. 

“Please. Stop.”

Lance turns his contorted face towards me and scrunches it even further. The noise gets louder.

“Alright, I’m leaving.” I could have a quiet rant session in my head, but it’s not that big of a deal since the place is closing in an hour or so anyways. In the fall, visiting hours end at three. Still, I would’ve liked to be here for longer than half an hour. Back to Hell I go. It was nice while it lasted.

I hear his seat creak behind me as he pops up. He puts both hands on my shoulders and pushes me out into the aisle. Once there, he wraps his arm around my neck and pulls me in. I try to get out from under his grasp, but he holds on as if I’m a toy he isn’t done playing with yet. 

“I’ll be sure to give you a shout-out next time you’re here,” he says. 

I duck down fast and speed walk to the exit. I could say I won’t see him ever again. I could avoid going here for the rest of my life just so he can’t have the satisfaction. But talking risks him continuing to make the words keep coming from his mouth. So I say nothing instead.

  


* * *

  


The A/C is still off when I get home, and I wasn’t wrong about the weather not cooling off. I’m lucky there’s nothing in the fridge or the freezer, or else I’d have to deal with that mess.

I call the local pizza joint and order a large. I know no one’s joining me, but it doesn’t hurt to have leftovers for tomorrow. Cold pizza isn’t all that horrible. They say it’ll be here in about half an hour, which really means in a little under an hour. 

I take my third shower of the day and forget about the guy from the planetarium. I forget about the fact that I’m going to step out into a humid apartment that’ll just get me sweating again. All I care about is getting this sweat off and stuffing my face. 

I go to my room to grab a pair of shorts (AKA the only pair of shorts I own) and can’t find them in my dresser. Not surprising. My ability to put things back where they go is suspect at best. Shiro was on me about it constantly. I can’t count the amount of times I’ve skipped out on classes in the past because I can’t find my keys. I’m a mess.

I spend too much time looking, and I start thinking, which is never a great thing. I get too close to my piano and I can almost hear the melodies of some crap song I wrote a thousand years ago. I brush against the strings of my acoustic and start humming some notes that could harmonize with my melodies. I stop. I don’t need that pair of shorts.

I grab some sweats instead and head out into the living room. The pizza guy shows up right when my stomach warns to give out on me. Food I don’t have to make is the most satisfying, even when it takes forever to show up. Always worth it. 

I place myself back onto my couch in the same position I had been in all morning and settle in for the rest of the day. I plug my headphones in and lose myself in the crash of drums and the hum of the bass. I get that tingly feeling in the back of my neck again. It’s not long after I eat that I start to feel my eyelids drooping. I let myself float into the darkness.

 _This_ is as comfy as it gets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> I started this really as a project for myself while I take time off of school. I've dabbled in music and writing (duh) a bit and I wanted to see what it would be like to put Lance and Keith together as artists. I have no idea where this is going, but let's find out!
> 
> By the way, if anyone has any tips on formatting that would be super cool. I'm kind of a beginner at HTML. I'm specifically having trouble with work skins and the space between dividers.


	2. Chaos Theory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Song:** _Can't Help Falling in Love_ by Elvis Presley

* * *

_Amongst the stars_  
_Between the stacks_  
_A peace disappears_  
_Yet you relax_

* * *

The planetarium may be empty year-round, but the bookstore never is. It’s funny that people say the bookstore business is dying, ‘cause it doesn’t look that way to me. There’s always a student scrambling for study aides, a parent getting required readings for their child, or a married woman demanding the newest Nicholas Sparks novel. Sure, online shopping reduces the amount of customers, but they haven’t disappeared completely.

I thought I’d get some time to myself every once in a while, but we’re perpetually understaffed. No doubt my boss has a strict limit on how many of us can work when, despite the fact that two people can’t handle the after-work/after-school crowd on their own. Well, I guess it’s three if you count my boss. I tend not to.

“Keith, may I see you for a second?” I stop piling books onto my cart and turn around to see my oh-so cheery manager. He only comes to talk to me when I’m getting a lecture. I think I prefer roasting alive in my apartment.

I follow him to the back room and he lays into me about proper alphabetizing, inability to sell product, and the state of the back room. It’s the same list every time. They’re also the same reasons every time.

There’s only so much I can do about alphabetizing when people are constantly messing up the shelves. I once watched a four-year-old swipe an entire shelf of children’s books onto the floor. I thought his mom would at least try to put them back, but no. She picked him up and scurried off, leaving it for me to handle. Not to mention I’m usually helping clueless customers find their way around.

My inability to sell has everything to do with being understaffed. I can’t run the register and work the floor when there’s only one other person working. Hitting my numbers is kind of impossible if I’m not dealing with money.

And don’t get me started on the back room. Every once in a while I try to get back there, but it’s the same as the shelves: someone fucks it up by the next time I go in. We all learned to navigate it, and somehow we know where everything is. It’s a mess, but at least it’s an _organized_ mess.

“The only reason I’m not cutting your hours in half is because we don’t have enough employees to cover your shifts.”

Whose fault do you think that is?

“I need you to get on top of this or I won’t hesitate to make your job as complicated as possible. Do we have an understanding?”

Most days I wish I could just punch him in the face. I’m sure people would cheer as I walk out the door. Too bad it wouldn’t bode well for future employment. _Yeah, I got fired ‘cause I knocked out my manager. Hope that’s not a problem._

“Yeah. I got it,” I say.

“You mean ‘yes.’”

“Yes. I got it.”

He narrows his eyes, trying to discern whether or not I’m telling the truth. He must believe me ‘cause he nods and stalks off, looking for his next victim. He’s gonna have a hard time. I’m pretty sure the whole store heard him.

I get back to my cart and check my stack. All of the books are headed for the science section. I guess silver linings do exist. No one’s ever there.

Or so I thought.

There are only two rows dedicated to the sciences and both of them are occupied by some kids. The one I can see is a teenager who’s planted herself on the floor. She’s flipping through the pages of a computer science book. There’s already a tower on her right that’s taller than her. It’s swaying, dangerously close to falling on her head. For a second, I think I know her, but I’m sure I don’t when she talks.

“Guys, I’m not finding anything on AI,” she calls out to her friends on the other side. “Can you check the math shelves and see if they at least have something about Fourier analysis?”

“Yeah. I’ll go.” I realize the voice is far too deep to be a kid. I’m proven right when he strolls by. He’s at least a foot taller than me and I swear he played football in high school ‘cause there’s no way a coach wouldn’t beg him to be on the team.

“Pidge! Are you seeing any astronomy books ‘cause this is all--”

Are you fucking kidding me.

Standing in front of me is, yet again, not a kid, but instead the guy from yesterday. Just as I think he might miss me, he stops, backs up, and looks me dead in the eyes. An evil grin forms on his face.

“Oh ho ho. Have I gained a stalker?” 

Yep. I’m the one stalking him. Totally evident by the fact that I ran as fast as I could at the planetarium. Oh yeah, and I work here.

He rubs his hands together like a cartoon villain and pushes into my personal space. I try backing up, but he maintains his proximity. How can a person’s face be that flawless? There’s not a zit in sight. 

Keith. That is _not_ the issue here.

“You’ve got me,” I deadpan. I raise my hands and shake them jazz hand style.

“Pidge!” he yells, peering over my shoulder at the girl, “This is the guy I was talking about.”

“You mean the one you said was being all emo in the planetarium?”

“Exactly.”

She keeps her eyes glued to her shelf. “I’m sorry about him.”

Lance scoffs. “Excuse you. I am an absolute joy to be around and you know it.”

“Thank you for your condolences,” I say to Pidge.

She turns to look at me, for the first time ceasing her activity. She pushes herself off the ground with a grunt and makes her way over, shoving Lance out of my face. He yelps and clutches his stomach, moaning like a wounded dog with a face to match. 

She puts out a hand, and I shake. She seems less irritating than the kicked puppy. “As you, and probably the entire store, heard, I’m Pidge. Unfortunately I’m friends with this guy.” She points backwards where Lance is standing, still holding his stomach. Anyone with eyes can see he’s fine. “I haven’t seen you around before. Do you go to Altea U?”

I stare hard at my cart, reading the title of a book over and over again about Chaos Theory. The store seems a lot louder than before. Voices are centered in the direction of the entrance. I check my watch and it’s just after 6. I gotta move if I wanna get out of here on time.

“Look, I’d love to stay and chat, but my boss won’t let me leave until I get these books out. Sorry.” I haphazardly throw titles up wherever I see the appropriate genre stickers. Someone else can deal with alphabetization.

I feel a familiar arm wrap around my shoulder and attempt to throw him off. He grabs again and manages to get me in a borderline headlock. I don’t really want to suffocate today, so I humor him.

“What do you need this time?”

“What time do you get off work?”

“6:30.” I don’t know why my automatic response was to tell the truth just now, but I think he’s making me lose the brain cells required to deny idiots information. “Why do you need to know?”

“Somehow I’ll survive the waiting just for you. Pidge, Hunk, you okay with that?”

Pidge nods. I can hear the tall guy from the other row voice his agreement as well.

“Why are you waiting?” I ask. Please tell me he’s not gonna bother me after work.

“Meeting again is fate! You have to come with us or you’re denying destiny. No one denies destiny. It’s the rules.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Hell no.”

“Cussing doesn’t make me any less determined to make you go,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips.

It’s not like I hate people, but he rubs me the wrong way. His voice is like an airhorn in an enclosed space. I’m surprised no one’s come over to check what’s going on. He’s also found his way back to his favorite spot: in my face. He doesn’t know how to take “no” for an answer and he’s not getting that I don’t want to be anywhere near him. He’s just not my type of person.

“If it makes you feel better, I can pay,” Pidge offers. “I work on a research fellowship and they pay way better than I need.”

Okay. Well. Now I’m interested. I have to weigh the consequences here. Either I stay home and lose the prospect of free food, which is the best kind of food. Or I go out with them, deal with Lance for an hour, and get a meal out of it. My stomach is the deciding factor.

“Fine. I surrender.”

Lance throws his arms in the air and whoops.

“Just let me finish putting these books up and I’ll go. And Pidge, I’m holding you to that promise.”

She gives a thumbs up and sticks her tongue out between her teeth. 

“We can help put these back for you if you want. We are making you hang out with Lance after all,” football player Hunk says.

“Heeeeey.”

Honestly, I’ve been threatened with getting fired so many times that I doubt letting them help me out would put me in any worse of a situation than I’m already in. I give them each a small stack and we finish in no time at all.

I tell them to meet me outside and I grab my things. As I’m leaving I get a disapproving glare from my boss. I call back with a “See you later, Kon,” and head out. Thinking of sitting near Lance almost deters me, but...food. This place better be worth it.

  


* * *

  


It is.

They pick an Italian restaurant nearby called Balmera. I’ve heard coworkers talking about it before, but I never made the effort to go. Sitting alone at a diner would actually make me sound emo. Not really about that description.

Lance is yelling from the moment we walk in. “Yoooo! Matt! What is _up_ my boy?”

One of the waiters turns his head and waves, a platter of drinks in his hands. His caramel-colored hair looks familiar for some reason.

“Is that your brother?” I ask Pidge. She nods. 

“The one and only.”

I keep staring and realize that’s not why I know him. It’s something else. Was he in my classes? No, I don’t think that’s it. He looks more like he’s Shiro’s age. Wait. Lance said Matt.

“What’s your last name,” I say, not taking my eyes off him.

“Hmm? It’s Holt. Why?”

Oh, that’s what it is. He went to school with Shiro. I only met him a few times when Shiro would bring the rare classmate home and he’s not someone you forget easily. Then again, it’s been years. He’s probably the only person who stuck around after our parents died. I was both thankful and jealous of him; thankful he was there for Shiro, but jealous that some days they’d be together more than Shiro and me.

I notice he’s gawking back, mouth widened beyond what I’m sure isn’t humanly possible. It’s wholly uncomfortable, so I peer over at Pidge who’s apparently joined our staring contest.

“You’re Shiro’s brother!” Matt yells. 

I give a weak smile and dip my head. “Long time no see.”

He runs up and hugs me, lifting me up in the air. I can feel the eyes of everyone in the group. It would suck if I didn’t know him, but I do. Still, I need him to put me down. Maybe. A little bit. Please.

“God. It’s been so long! How is he? Is he enjoying being abroad? I wish I had gone abroad. What’s he been doing?”

I’m not so good at answering five thousand questions at once, so I only give one. “He’s doing good I think. Haven’t heard from him in a little while.” A little while meaning five weeks.

A voice calls from the back telling Matt to get back to work. “Ah shit. Sorry guys. I gotta go, but I’m working your table for sure. You have to tell me everything, Keith.” He runs off and I follow the group to a booth in the corner.

“I think I heard about Shiro more than I saw him when I was a kid,” Pidge says. “I don’t remember him looking anything like you, though.”

“We’re adoptive brothers. His parents took me in when I was little.”

“That explains it. Maybe Lance is right about this fate thing.”

We wait for Lance to say something, but he doesn’t. He’s slumped in his seat, his eyes blank.

“What’s up buddy?” Hunk asks. 

“I can’t believe I wasn’t the first to figure out his name.”

Pidge raises an eyebrow. “Why does that matter?”

“I met him first! It’s the rules!”

“I mean, Matt met him first and I knew about him second, so the rules aren’t broken. If anything, you’re trying to break the rules.”

He turns his hysteria towards me. “But I was the first person to see you _recently_. I have claim over all facts about you. I am supposed to be the first to know. How the heck did I not get your name before Matt did? It would be one thing if it were Pidge or Hunk, but Matt?” He sets his head down on the table and mumbles something about being a failure to his entire culture.

Matt comes back to the table, sets down a basket of garlic knots in front of Lance, and takes our drink orders. I don’t want to take advantage of Pidge’s offer, so I ask for a water. 

Apparently Hunk works here too. He’s not technically the head cook, but sometimes they let him take over operations to give him practice. He’s dead set on not ordering anything. When you’ve had everything on the menu ten million times, no doubt it’s sickening.

“Hunk here is a food science major, which means he’s a wizard in the kitchen,” Lance says. “I didn’t know there were so many spices until I visited his apartment. It’s insane. Some people have spice racks, but he has a spice cabinet.”

Hunk gets a sheepish grin and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not a genius or anything. I just play around a little bit and see what works. Nothing major.”

Lance tells me he’s an English major with an astronomy minor. Makes sense why he works at the planetarium. I guess it’s possible he knows what he’s talking about. 

“I honestly thought you were in the store to mess around. I didn’t know you actually read.”

Pidge cracks up and Hunk joins in. Lance is decidedly not happy about this turn of events and refocuses his attention to the depleting supply of garlic knots.

“Well, I’m working on my Masters right now. It’s kinda a combination of advanced math and computer science,” Pidge says. “If Hunk’s a wizard in the kitchen, I’m a wizard in the tech lab.”

Lance speaks up again. “I’m pretty sure when robots take over the world, it’s gonna be Pidge’s fault. She has this weird fascination with building creepy AI.”

“You can complain about my AI when you pass Physics I.”

Lance smacks his head on the table and stays there. Even when Matt comes over to take our orders, he doesn’t lift it. Matt doesn’t seem to mind and scribbles down whatever Lance mumbled.

Hearing them talk about their majors gets me thinking about when I went to school. I used to spend all my time in the practice rooms trying to perfect a new song I wrote. I never did, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. I went in as a music major thinking it would be easy, but I was absolutely wrong. Theory courses were brutal. I’d never thought about what it conveys to an audience when you play a particular chord or set of notes. I never knew that the designated “mi” has a sweetness to it. I just played and hoped for the best.

I did learn how to tread water for a while. I felt my music syncing up with what was in my head. I threw out my sheet music less, instead keeping it in a folder for future use. Eventually I took pride in my unfinished works. It meant I wasn’t giving up. I liked what I was making.

When everyone finally finishes eating—they took their time ‘cause they couldn’t stop talking—Pidge directs her attention towards me.

“So you didn’t answer my question earlier.”

“Which one?”

“Do you go to AU?”

Lance scoffs and smirks. “I bet he’s a college dropout. He’s just acting like he’s better than me, but really I’m the superior one. My brain is just that much more powerful.”

“You’re right.”

“He admits it!”

“Lance, shut up,” Pidge warns. She’s not looking at me, but I can hear what her voice is saying. She pities me. Not like I blame her. She’s gotten through two bachelor's degrees at the same before she turned 18, and now she’s working on a graduate degree. I couldn’t even make it out of undergrad. It’s not a big deal, though. I’ve come to terms with it.

_Wise men say_

No.

_Only fools rush in_

The scraping of forks and knives on plates stops. I can’t hear anything the group is saying. The room is silent, except for the song playing on the restaurant’s speakers.

_But I can’t help falling in love with you_

“I have to go.” I must look panicked because Pidge jumps out of the booth. I would thank her, but I can’t talk. I don’t know what would come out if I did. I rush out and get on my bike. I don’t take the long way home.

  


* * *

  


_“Shall I stay? Would it be a sin if I can’t help falling in love with you?”_

_Mom serenades my dad from the passenger seat. Her voice is a little off-key, and she’s swaying with her arms over her heart. I know most kids think their parents are gross, but I don’t. I notice the light in her eyes when she looks at him. It’s the same way she looks at me and Shiro, and I know I feel warm when she does. No matter if I’m messing up or doing good, she can’t hide her thoughts: she loves me._

_“That was beautiful, honey,” Dad says back. Mom giggles, like the girls at my school do when they’re gossiping. She softly punches his shoulder and Dad gives her a quick “stern” look. It’s soft and playful, like he can’t help himself from smiling._

_My mom turns back to where I’m sitting. “And you were beautiful too, sweetheart. I can’t believe someone with my voice raised someone with your talent.” She squeezes my knee and shakes it._

_“She’s right. All those lessons paid off. I’m surprised no one signed you on the spot.”_

_I chuckle. It wasn’t anything special, really. We had a talent show and I heard anyone could get in if you showed up. I practiced a song I wrote for hours, making myself hoarse some days. Mom would make me bucketloads of ginger tea and scold me. “Don’t ruin your voice before you have a chance to use it.” I’d scurry off to my room and practice some more._

_When I went up I didn’t feel ready, but my instructor taught me something once that could help. In four, out four._

_One two three four._

_Five six seven eight._

_I play._

_Mom continues the song, louder this time. My Dad joins in too, trying to match Mom’s pitch and failing miserably. Eventually he settles back on an octave lower than her and seems content enough. Mom smacks my leg multiple times._

_“Let’s hear that voice again.”_

_I oblige. I don’t sing as loud, but I’m there with them. It’s just our little world. It’s something no one else can have except us. This moment will never happen again, but I’m just glad to be here. I wish Shiro could be here too, but I know we can’t have everything. That’d be a little too lucky._

_“Take my hand. Take my whooooole life too. For I can’t help falling in love with you.”_

_We lower our voices to a whisper._

_“For I can’t help fall--”_

_I can’t hear anything. Something rams into our car and I can feel us flying. The loss of gravity disorients me and I don’t know where to put my hands to protect myself. I just place them behind my neck as if I’m just part of another earthquake drill at school._

_I can’t tell how many times we roll, but when I come down, I’m so dizzy that I puke. When the smell hits my nose, I instinctively try to move away, but hiss instead. I look and my leg doesn’t quite look the way I thought it should. The angle was all wrong. There’s blood dripping onto it from I don’t know where. I don’t do well with blood._

_I pass out._

_When I wake up, I’m not sure where I am. For a minute my vision is blurry and I have to blink slowly several times before I can see right. The artificial lights aren’t doing my head any good. I have a migraine that’s pounding against my skull. I smell sanitizer everywhere and I start realizing where I might be. It’s a hospital._

_I look around and see my heart monitor, beeping away like I’m in some movie. I’m in a room with glass windows and the door is open a crack. I can hear muffled voices, the pitter patter of shoes on linoleum, the beeps of other machines I can’t identify. I try sitting up and stop myself. My neck is sore and my leg is even worse. I remember what it looked like last night. Was it last night?_

_A nurse walks into my room, clipboard in hand. When she looks up she smiles._

_“Oh, good. You’re awake. How’re you feeling?” she asks me._

_I don’t know if I can answer her. I sweep my eyes over the room again and think about why it seems wrong. Sometimes in movies, people wake up with their entire family surrounding them with flowers and balloons. They all gasp and hug the person as tight as they can, eliciting a groan and full-bodied laughter. The only person I can see is the nurse._

_“Are my parents here?”_

_She gives me this look. Somehow I know that look. It’s the same look I see on every adult’s face when they learn I’m an orphan. Maybe this woman looked at my chart and knows I don’t have living relatives._

_“I meant my adoptive parents. My birth parents aren’t alive.”_

_Her face remains unchanging. Did she feel bad that my parents hadn’t come to see me yet? They’ll come soon enough. They know where I am. They were there._

_They were there._

_I don’t cry. I don’t scream. I don’t say a word._

_You need air to do all that._

  


* * *

  


The second I get home I scramble for my headphones. I check between the couch, I check underneath, but there’s nothing. I know I put them here. They’re always here.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

My breathing is labored and I can’t move anymore. My throat is closing up. My heartbeat is threatening to give out. I cover my ears, but it just gets louder. I rock back-and-forth begging for it to stop, a whine escaping my throat. Just for a little while even. Please.

For a small apartment, the room feels tiny. The inside of my body is cold but the outside is on fire. I feel shudders run through me, shaking the whole time. I try my limited arsenal of coping techniques but they’re lost. My brain is a combination of static and that song.

That fucking song.

Eventually I calm enough to where my heartbeat is close to normal. My hands are still shaking and my throat is only just opening back up, but I’m here. I’m not going to die. I wipe the snot and spit from my face and sit up. Even though the tears are gone, I can still feel myself double breathing. I need water.

It takes everything in me to get my brain to comply. No matter how many times I tell it to stand up, it won’t listen. I say it out loud. I repeat until I feel my arms pushing up. I stumble to the kitchen and pour a glass of water. I don’t stop drinking until it’s gone. I pour another and do the same.

I lean on my counter and count. “Four in, four out,” I say, and breathe in a slow rhythm. This would’ve been helpful while I was in the middle of losing my shit, but it helps afterwards, too. I don’t immediately breathe properly after I’m done hyperventilating.

I trudge back to the couch and fall into it, making a dull slap when I make contact. I put my feet forward and I feel something plastic between my toes. Some kind of cord. 

I pick up my headphones and glare at them, hoping to intimidate this inanimate object. “Fuck you you fucking piece of shit. For once I really need you and you go missing. Seriously. Fuck you.”

I put them on top of the coffee table they hid under and ignore them for my phone. I notice I have four texts from an unknown number.

**From: 718-XXX-XXXX  
eyyyyy its lancey lance**

**From: 718-XXX-XXXX  
from the diner**

**From: 718-XXX-XXXX  
i figured my biggest fan would loooove to get my number so i give you this gift**

**From: 718-XXX-XXXX  
hope you like it ;)**

Great. The idiot got my number. I consider not answering, but ignoring him means a thousand more texts by the time I wake up tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll pull me into something stupid again, but at least from this distance it’s harder to trap me.

**From: Keith  
I feel like I keep asking you the same question over and over again. Do I even need to write it down?**

He answers instantly. I save his number. I’d rather know which number to ignore than to not know who it is every time.

**From: Lance  
look at mr. cool bein all cool**

**From: Lance  
just wanna see what youre doin**

**From: Lance  
no shenanigans here**

**From: Keith  
Dude.**

**From: Lance  
its nothiiiiing**

**From: Lance  
just wanted to say somethin**

**From: Keith  
Jesus. What?**

**From: Lance  
im sorry**

I have to re-read the text three times before it actually sinks in. This is the same guy who broke my concentration at the planetarium? The same guy who forced me out with his friends with the promise of free food? 

**From: Keith  
You’re what?**

**From: Lance  
i said im sorry**

**From: Lance  
pidgeon told me i have to apologize because i was bein “rude and insensitive”**

**From: Lance  
it was a joke**

**From: Lance  
i promise**

**From: Keith  
Don’t worry about it.**

Of course he’s not actually sorry, but it’s not like I’m ashamed of what I did. People drop out. I’m not cut out for it. I didn’t want to go to class anyways so my routine didn’t change much. Just meant no last-minute essays.

I feel my phone buzz again but ignore it. My body is exhausted and I need to sleep. I know it’ll be a while, but I know I’ll sink eventually. I pick my pillow up from the floor and plop it in place. Slipping under the sheets, I reach for my headphones and forgive them as long as they function now.

I get lucky tonight. They go in, and I go out.

  


* * *

  


In the last two weeks, their little gang has been in the store about ten times. They come at the same time every day and they’re never here to shop. Every once in a while they catch me in my hiding spots. I never was good at hide-and-seek.

Lance spends all of his time trailing me and questioning my choice of hairstyle. I hear him mumble sometimes about how I can actually pull it off, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know I can hear him. I could hear him even if he was trying to whisper.

Pidge isn’t as bad, but sometimes she starts rambling off about some new tech she’s been working on. I have to admit, it sounds interesting, but it’s hard to focus on both her and my job. I’ve learned to tune her out to an extent, but I can only keep it up for so long. Once she starts going, there’s no stopping her.

Hunk is undeniably the best of the bunch. He usually keeps his distance because he knows I’m working, but if Lance or Pidge are bugging me too much, he helps me with whatever task I’m on. It’s especially nice because he can reach the top shelves with ease. Not having to get the step ladder from downstairs every time is a godsend.

I found out last week that I’m getting Saturday off AKA the break only ever heard about in myths. I’ll probably avoid the planetarium, but I can always take a ride and enjoy the weather. Maybe I’ll take a walk down by the water. 

The crew is hanging out in the crafts and hobbies section. When they see me, they perk up. 

“So, I hear you’re getting time off on Saturday,” Lance says. 

“And where did you hear that from?” I retort.

“A little birdie told us—cough Nyma cough—that you don’t have to work.”

Dammit Nyma. She won’t tell me _anything_ when I ask, yet she’ll tell people she doesn’t know about my schedule? Next time she asks me to cover for her I’m letting her take the fall.

“We have a can’t-miss event coming up. You should be there,” Pidge says. From the look in her eyes, I can tell she’s got something extra energy-consuming in mind. I don’t know if I want anything to do with even the _planning_ of whatever scheme they’ve got in mind.

“Hard pass.”

“I haven’t even told you what we’re doing yet!”

I sigh. Apparently Pidge also uses the kicked puppy look, but she’s far more effective at it. 

“What is it?”

“You’re officially invited to our monthly movie night.”

That sounds...simple.

“What does movie night entail,” I ask. I continue to alphabetize the cookbook shelves while they explain.

“I’ll make the food,” Hunk says. “Pidge provides the TV screen because her brother has an insane set-up. Ever seen movies in 4K? It’s like a blessing for the eyes.”

Lance points his thumb towards himself. “And I am in charge of picking the movie.”

I stop what I’m doing and narrow my eyes at him. “There is nothing you have shown me that tells me you have good taste in anything.”

“Ooh, harsh,” Hunk chuckles.

“Actually, Lance is pretty good at picking. I don’t think I’ve watched anything I didn’t enjoy.” Pidge is somehow balancing a book on her head while walking as she says this. I wish I had her level of concentration.

This is such a bad idea. The last time I hung out with them I stormed out without a word. If they ask personal questions, I’m either trapped or I’ll run out again. My life doesn’t need to be made more complicated. I’m honestly not sure why they stuck around after that.

“I’ll go.” My mouth has a mind of its own.

All three of them cheer. Several shoppers whip their heads around to look at us.

“I’ll go,” I say, “if you guys leave. Now.”

They salute me and head off to wherever they go when they’re not bothering me. We exchange numbers and they promise to get the details to me ASAP.

I finish my day off in peace. It feels wrong.

  


* * *

  


**From: Pidge  
Pidge here! \o/**

**From: Keith  
Keith here.**

**From: Pidge  
So movie night officially starts at 8, but you should be here at 7**

**From: Keith  
Will do. Just shoot me your address when you get the chance.**

**From: Pidge  
Roger roger**

I see a notification for a text from a different number.

**From: Lance  
you liiiiiike us**

**From: Keith  
I agreed to hang out with you guys. It’s not a declaration of love.**

**From: Lance  
you liiiiiiiiiiiiiiike us**

**From: Keith  
Can you stop.**

**From: Lance  
…**

**From: Lance  
;)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holla at my fellow insomniacs! I've been taking naps at horrible times and now I have to do a hard reset on my sleep schedule. On the bright side, I wrote a lot of this when I couldn't sleep. I find it easier to write when I know no one's gonna bother me. It's nice and quiet.
> 
> The song is at the top. I know it's pretty popular, but I wanted to make sure it was clear. I chose it because I remembered the scene in _The Conjuring 2_ where they sing this song together. It's such a sweet moment before the chaos, so my brain plugged it here.
> 
> Anyways, I can't believe I got this done so fast. I guarantee it won't take me less than a week for the rest of the chapters, but for now, here it is. 
> 
> Thank you for reading again and let me know what you think! I'll start working on chapter 3 after I'm done dying. Stay tuned!


	3. Icy Strings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Song:** _Missing You_ by All Time Low
> 
>  **Warning:** Major spoilers for _Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull_.

* * *

_Sure, leave your dreams behind_  
_Stop your heart_  
_Thrash your soul_  
_Murder your mind_

* * *

**From: Keith**  
**Here.**

 **From: Pidge**  
**i’ll be right out! (゜◇゜)ゞ**

Honestly, I’ve been here since before 7, but there was no way I was going in early. I waited an extra 20 minutes to text her. Pidge is great, but I haven’t had a one-on-one conversation with anyone but Lance in a long time, and that turned out _great_. In a group I can stay quiet and let other people talk. There’s no need to have a response every time, which means less chance of tripping over my words.

I think I’m in front of the address she gave me, but I don’t want to make a guess. The idea of knocking on a stranger’s door in the middle of the night does not sound appealing. Sure, I don’t subscribe to Lance’s idea of me being emo, but I could look intimidating through a peephole.

The door of the house creaks open, light spilling across the front steps. She peeks her head out, searching for me. I throw my backpack over a shoulder and wave. When she sees me, she waves back and holds the door open.

From the outside, the place looks modest compared to the other houses in the neighborhood. It’s large, but it’s not screaming, “Look at me! This family has money!” The walls are a creamy white and the roof is clay tile. None of the windows look the same, but it looks right. This area needs a little wonkiness.

I don’t know the last time I’ve been in an entryway. Apartments don’t tend to have anything so fancy. Light yellow paint complimented by dark hardwood flooring and antique-looking lanterns lining the walls. There’s tons of pictures of Pidge and Matt, as well as their parents and extended family members. There’s a lot of love on these walls. 

In the living room, I find a tech nerd’s wet dream. I’m not sure what’s there, but I see at least seven—make that eight—machines. One I recognize as a Blu-ray Player, but the rest are hard to make out. Doesn’t help that there are wires and cords coming from millions of sources. I’m glad I’m not in charge of figuring out what goes where. I don’t even know if I could find the right remote as there’s five different ones on the coffee table.

The TV itself is just as Hunk said: a blessing for the eyes. I can hear the murmur of an action cartoon playing on the screen, and the picture is incredible. I didn’t know anything could make that color. It’s crystal clear and sharp. From the size of the thing, it must’ve cost a fortune. 

“You brought your pajamas, right?” Pidge asks, settling down in one corner of the couch. 

“Yep,” I say.

“Go ahead and put them on.” She points past the couch and curls her wrist, gesturing at the hallway around the corner. “There’s one down there. Second door on the right.”

I rebalance my bag on my shoulder and head down. 

When I get there, the lights are on and the door is slightly ajar. I knock and wait for a response, but there isn’t one. Just to be safe, I push it open a bit and peek. 

Before me is a half-naked Lance, dancing to a beat only he can hear. I know I’ll get shit for it if I get caught, but I watch anyways. I can’t help it. He’s still his goofy self, but there’s something different about it. I’m looking at a stranger, but he’s more real than any version of himself I’ve seen so far. He wears a soft smile, eyes closed. There’s no showiness in his dance. Makes sense since there’s no one to impress. I’ve never seen him this...normal.

Lance opens his eyes and widens his smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I wonder if anyone else has ever seen him the way I’m seeing him now. This feels so intimate. I almost feel bad.

I don’t have time to dwell on it because he notices me in the mirror. He whips his head around and gasps, dramatically covering his torso. 

“How can I ever get married now,” he laments.

I pull the door shut and feel the heat rise in my cheeks. Now I’m the guy who peeps on other guys. Lance will never let me live that one down. 

I march straight back to the living room, and it’s only when I see Pidge that I realize. Her little criss-cross applesauce ruse won’t fool me. “You knew he was in that bathroom, didn’t you.”

She pouts, connects her hands, and places them under her chin in an attempt to make herself look angelic. “Who? Little ol’ me? I don’t know anything.”

I put my face in one of my hands and sigh, mainly because I think my face might still be red. At least I know that no one is gonna think I’m some kind of creep, but still. Didn’t need to go through that experience.

“There’s another bathroom upstairs. First door you’ll see,” she tells me.

“No way am I ever trusting you again, you gremlin.”

She cackles, her innocent personality eliminated from existence. “That’s fair.”

Instead, I wait for Lance to come back. He does, and this time he’s fully clothed. He’s already in his happy-go-lucky mood when he comes in, but he looks even more excited when he sees me. 

“So, like what you see?” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

I flip him off and slip past him, our shirts rustling against each other. 

He calls out from behind me. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Voices keep talking, but they aren’t directed at me anymore.

“So, how was your little experience?” Pidge says.

Lance scoffs. “So you sent him. You’re the worst.” Even though I can’t see him, I can hear the smile in his voice. I don’t know if it’s because he’s going to use it for joke material or if he’s going to use it for blackmail. Either way, I should prepare for the worst.

Unlike Lance, I can’t look at myself in the mirror with pride. Where his body is brown and flawless, mine is pale and dry-looking. Of course, the darker skin tone helps with appearances, but let’s be fair. I don’t spend hours on my beauty routine and it shows.

I spend time outside every once in a while, but typically my exposure is limited to whenever I ride my bike to and from work. Even then I’m wearing my protective clothing, so I doubt I’ll be tanning any time soon. 

I poke at the softness of my stomach and groan. I figured under all of that clothing he would be more lanky. Instead, his body is toned just enough to note that he must exercise regularly. I don’t know the last time I even took a walk. Maybe I should get on that. 

I cover myself up with my pajamas and feel better, but only marginally. My arms still look stupidly weak, but at least they can’t see how pitiful the whole picture is. 

I breathe deep and head back to the living room.

  


* * *

  


I haven’t been to a sleepover since I was a kid, but I don’t remember them being this aggressive.

Pidge and Lance are arguing about whether or not _Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull_ is realistic. I mean, I know it’s all about history and stuff, but it’s a science-fiction movie. It’s in the title. 

“Why would someone take the effort to cut off some interstellar being’s head!” Pidge says. “Sure it looks like a priceless crystal, but did they not see the bodies littering the floor?”

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that they’re not arguing over whether or not aliens are real, but rather why humans would mess with a _crystal skull_.

“Oh come on.” Lance throws up his arms. “Have you even seen the other movies? These people are hardcore adventurers. If you hear a story about some cool whatever, you’re gonna go after it. End of story.”

Pidge crosses her arms and scrunches her face. “I feel like no one is that hardcore. More like stupid.”

Lance gasps. “You take that back!”

So much for Lance only picking movies everyone likes.

“No way. Not happening.”

“I’m sure you could see the truth if you weren’t such a Pidget.”

The room falls silent. I glance around and both Lance and Hunk are holding their breath. 

Then the screeching starts.

She’s on him in a millisecond. Clawing. A lioness attacking her prey. The animalistic noise she’s making reminds me of nature documentaries I watched in high school. She’d do well in the Savannah. I have to scoot forward so as to not get involved in the fight.

Lance starts calling out for help. Hunk shakes his head and sighs. “No way, dude. You brought this on yourself.”

“Keith, please,” he says, trying to lift Pidge off himself. He can only manage to lift her an inch or two before she’s on him again.

I move forward a tad and Pidge gives me a look that says, “Don’t you dare.” I have to think this over. I’m not all that tough, but at least I didn’t insult her height. I have an edge here. I might be the only one who can get her to stop without ripping my body apart.

“For someone who’s fun sized, she sure has a lot more going for her than you do.” She stops scratching. Her eyes lose their primal rage, and she jumps off him, grinning. 

“You’re damn right,” she says and cuddles up with a blanket in her personal corner. That was easy.

Lance slips off the couch and lands on the floor next to me. His eyes are wide and he’s subtly rocking back and forth. I can’t help it. I try to muffle the sounds of my cackling, but to no avail. I throw my head back. 

When my laughter subsides, three shocked faces are looking back at me. 

“What?” Oh god. Is my laugh really that gross? Note: reduce laugh intensity.

Hunk gives me a soft smile, his eyes like those of a proud parent. 

“You just laughed,” he says.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Dude, I haven’t seen you laugh _once_ , much less a full-on cackle,” Lance says.

I scrunch my eyebrows together and think. There must have been one time I laughed. What about the time when...no. I smirked but no sounds. Or that other time when Pidge...not then either. Almost, but not quite. Jesus. I’m a fucking weirdo.

I put my head down and ruffle my hair, my cheeks burning. 

“I finally got emo boy to laugh!” Lance lifts off the ground and does a victory dance. His limbs flail around and he looks like he’s about to trip over his feet. I think I like this dancing too.

“Alright, alright,” I say. “Now pick a movie that doesn’t end in all-out warfare.”

  


* * *

  


I’m losing the will to stay awake, and I’d love to lay down, but I’ve got an almost passed out Lance leaning on my shoulder. I want to move, but at the same time, it’s kinda hilarious. Once he falls asleep, I can mess with him. Maybe I’ll get a picture of him drooling or something. Worth it.

“Hey Keith,” Lance says.

“Hmm?”

“What did you study when you went to AU?”

“Curious about my past?” I ask. I answer despite being on guard. “Music with a concentration in composition.”

He chuckles. “Let me guess, you play the guitar?”

“Piano too, but yeah.”

He grins, his eyes barely open at this point. “You would. All emo kids play the guitar. It’s like a rite of passage or some shit.”

He’s not wrong. The whole reason I started playing in the first place was because I wanted to be like my idols. No one could resist a guy in a band. I even spent some time working on my singing. The frontman was always getting the attention. I didn’t know I was going to love it the way I do. Did.

Part of me wants to tell him the whole story, which is stupid. He’s Lance. No doubt he’ll wake up Pidge and Hunk and make sure they know how lame I am. I don’t really need him joking about it again. It doesn’t bother me, but I don’t want him spreading around. I haven’t even told Shiro.

But maybe he won’t remember. He’s falling asleep and we don’t always remember things when we’re on our way to dreamland. Should I?

“I got kicked out.”

“What?” He lifts himself away from me, eyes wide. 

Fuck. I guess he is gonna remember this. Can’t take it back. Figures with my luck. I keep going. He’ll beg me for the whole story eventually.

“I didn’t drop because they kicked me out.”

I wait for him to laugh. Scoff. Snicker. Anything. He’s got proof I’m not Mr. Cool Guy. 

He doesn’t say a word and, after a moment, puts his head back on my shoulder. It’s as if the Lance in the bathroom came back. I look down at him. His eyes are closed and he’s not concocting some plan in his head. He’s just there.

“What happened?”

I don’t know what it is about him. He irritates me on a daily basis. He’s loud and obnoxious when I’m working. He has no idea that personal space is an actual thing. Maybe I misjudged him. Maybe that’s why I keep talking.

“Basically I stopped showing up. My GPA was too low for two semesters straight and they kicked me out. Nothing crazy.”

I can see the cogs turning in his head. “Does your brother know?”

I turn away. “I can’t tell him.”

Shiro worked hard to get through school. He did it to make sure he could put me through school himself. I can’t let him know I fucked it all up. I can’t look him in the eyes and tell him everything he did for me was for nothing. He helped me through high school. Hell, he raised me for a few years by himself. If I told him, he’d quit his program and come straight home. He’s an idiot. Every time he asks me how school is going, I lie and say I’ve been working on tons of compositions and tons of papers on which composers are the biggest shams. I’ll tell him someday. Just not now. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?” 

“Yeah. Okay.”

He goes back to watching the TV. Someone is having a heart-to-heart with some girl about his broken family. I have to look away. It’s too much like this, but there’s no love interest. It’s just Lance.

He elbows me in the stomach and smirks. “Guess I have blackmail material, huh?”

He’s back.

“I guess so.”

  


* * *

  


If I wasn’t closing tonight, I don’t think I would survive the day. I don’t know how people have the energy to hang out with people every single day, but I admire it. I guess I can see the appeal. It’s a whirlwind at best, but I didn’t have to be in my own whirlwind of a head. Something about those guys makes it easy to enjoy myself.

Still, I’m dead tired. I have to say the alphabet out loud to get the shelves in order. I haven’t had to do that since I first started. It makes everything a thousand times slower.

For the first time in a while, the gang doesn’t show up at the store. It’s weird not having Lance breathing down my neck, or listening to Pidge talk about her work, or Hunk talking about the importance of salting water before you cook pasta. I mean, sure it’s distracting, but I don’t hate it anymore. I’d never tell them this, but I think I miss them sometimes. Just maybe. A little. Nothing major.

“Excuse me,” a woman says. I give her a customer service smile and she gives me a courteous smile back.

“How can I help you?”

  


* * *

  


As much as I miss those guys, I definitely like a quiet day off. I’m intent on staying in the house and doing absolutely nothing, and I’ve been doing so since I woke up. I’m reaching insane levels of bored just laying down. I should search for new music while I have the time. I’m getting tired of the same old things.

As soon as I start the first song, I hear a knock at the door. I groan and lift myself up. The landlord never comes up to talk to me. Please tell me there’s not another problem. One time he had to tell us all that we couldn’t drink the water from the tap for the day. Something wrong with the plumbing or whatever. That was fun.

I can hear excited chatter from the other side. I don’t even need to look through the peephole to know who it is. I know they’re in school, but do they ever actually do anything besides fuck around?

I swing the door open and glare at my little trio. “What the hell are you doing here and how did you find me?”

Pidge speaks up first. “You remember how my brother knows Shiro?”

Goddammit. We haven’t had the chance to change apartments since I moved to Altea. We talked about it for a little while, but when Shiro needed to go overseas, I needed a cheap place. Plus, the idea of doing all the work to find another place sounded like hell. I opted to stay instead.

I stare at the ceiling. “There’s no way I can convince you to leave?”

“Nope!” Lance says and walks past me.

“Sure. Just come in. I’m glad you waited for permission,” I deadpan.

He starts investigating my apartment while Pidge and Hunk settle themselves in the living room. Hunk is carrying a dish of some kind of pasta with red sauce. Pidge has Coke, Pepsi, and some Doritos. She also has some sour cream, but I have no idea what for. 

“Because we’re crashing your party of one, I brought food. Baked ziti. Lance wouldn’t let me make anything else, so I hope it’s okay.” My stomach grumbles. They’re lucky I haven’t eaten yet.

“Oh and don’t forget: we brought Doritos and sour cream. It will blow your mind,” Pidge says.

Lance notices the blankets pooled on the floor by the couch. “Do you sleep out here?” he asks.

“Sometimes.” I grab them and toss them into my room. Might as well shut the door while I’m at it. Not a fan of Lance snooping around in there.

He finally quits his search and plops himself down onto my couch. He lines up some DVDs on my coffee table. Without asking anyone for their opinion, he goes to pop one into my PS4. He stops once he ejects the disk. 

“You have _Mortal Kombat X_.” He says it more like a statement than a question.

“What about it?”

He leans back, looking at me upside down. “I’m gonna kick your ass.”

He obviously doesn’t know how much time I spend not doing anything. I’ve already beaten the campaign on Hard Difficulty. Dude doesn’t know what hell I can do with Mileena. As much as I’d like to say I don’t like competing with other people, I do. Plus, knocking down his ego a notch or five hundred would make my day.

“You’re on.”

It’s an hour before Lance finally gives up. He got a couple wins in, but it’s an undisputed fact that I dominated. Hunk kept tally while Pidge cheered me on. 

“I’m just off my game and you’re totally using cheap moves,” Lance says.

“Uh huh. Sure. That’s why you lost almost every round.”

“I got you three times!”

I scoff. “Oh no! You are truly my equal.”

He shoves me over and I laugh.

“Alright, guys,” Pidge says. “As much as I enjoyed Keith kicking Lance’s ass, can we do something that involves everyone?”

Lance perks back up. No doubt he’s ready to gain redemption. As if.

“Ooh. How about “Never Have I Ever?” Hunk says.

I groan. I haven’t played that game all that many times, but no matter what it always gets awkward. You end up having to tell some weird secret that no one needs to know. I don’t need Lance knowing more than what I give him willingly. Plus, I’m not sure that Pidge is to be trusted either. She did send me to walk in on a half-naked Lance.

“Oh now we’re definitely playing,” Lance says. “I’ve got nothing to hide, Keithy boy.”

I give up. Jumping in with these guys hasn’t gone too horribly before. I remember Shiro always pushing me to hang out with other people when I was in high school. It hadn’t been great, but some of it was okay, and I didn’t even really know those guys.

“Alright, ten fingers up,” Pidge says. “I’d play with alcohol, but I’ve got a paper to start tonight and I’d rather not be wasted.”

Everyone puts their fingers up, and we decide Hunk will start. At least I can rely on him for the easy answers. He may be the size of a football player, but he’s basically a giant teddy bear.

“Never have I ever been late on the first day of class.”

Lance narrows his eyes at Hunk and puts a finger down.

Next is Pidge.

“Never have I ever got dumped by a girl less than 24 hours into the relationship.”

Lance gapes at her. “Are you fucking kidding me? Are you all teaming up against me?”

“Yes,” we say in unison.

He grumbles, but continues the circle.

“Never have I ever had a mullet.”

I put a finger down, but I also notice Hunk does as well.

“What?!” There’s no way. I’ve never known anyone else with hair even close to a mullet. My hair barely counts, but still.

“Yep,” he says. “I wanted to grow out my hair and my mom didn’t know how to deal with it. She cut it _super_ weird.”

Lance cackles. “I may be a lone wolf in this game, but at least I got two down in one round.”

It’s my turn.

“Never have I ever had a beauty routine longer than an hour.”

Lance is back to sulking.

We keep going around the circle, at some point automatically starting another game the second a winner is declared. I learn that Hunk is dating a Marshallese girl he met while working at Balmera. It took him around a year before he finally asked her out. Her response was, “Finally!” and they’ve been doing pretty well since. 

I learn Pidge had a huge crush on Lance before she met him (“Okay he looked attractive from far away! The second I met him there was no way that was happening.”) I’ll never let that one go, although I get what she means. He doesn’t make the best first impressions.

During one of Pidge’s turns, she says she’s never gotten blown by a dude. I put a finger down, and so does Lance. We stare at each other.

We say, “Are you bi?” at the same time. Well, scream is the better word for it. We also say, “Yeah” at the same time. He spends all his time talking about the girls he tries to hook up with, but I’ve never heard him even mention a guy.

“I just figured it out about a year ago. I decided to confirm it with a guy I thought was hot at a party. It worked,” he says. “What about you? I can’t even imagine you dating anyone, much less having sex with anyone.”

“First of all, I’ve probably gone further than you have. Second of all, I’m gay not bi.”

Lance’s eyes widen and his mouth drops. “What the fuck do you mean you’ve gone further? You’re not a virgin?”

Shit. Didn’t mean to give out that information. I don’t really like talking about my sex life. It’s mostly filled with guys experimenting and deciding they didn’t want to be gay. Although, being with guys who are in the closet means a lot more discretion. I haven’t had random strangers asking me whether or not so-and-so was lying about me having sex with them. Works out better for me if no one asks questions.

“Guess I have more game than you do.”

He slams his mouth shut. His eyes glaze over and he’s still. Hunk waves his hand in front of his face. 

“Lance? You okay buddy?” Lance doesn’t respond. I’m pretty sure he’s having an internal crisis. Hunk shrugs and checks his phone. Pidge does the same. 

“Oh shit. I’ve gotta get back,” Pidge says. “Lance, get up.” He doesn’t move at all. He’s the image of a statue minus the marble.

She huffs and turns to me. “You mind taking him home? I know you have your bike and he’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”

Lance jumps back to life. “Bike? Like...regular bike or motorbike.”

I don’t give him an answer and instead stick to my conversation with Pidge. “There’s no way I’m letting him touch my bike.”

“Well there’s no way I’m going with them now,” Lance says. He looks firmly planted on my carpet.

“Please?” Pidge begs. Her puppy dog face is back. Dammit.

“Fine, but you owe me.”

She grins and they gather their things. 

“Bye guys!” they say.

“Maybe you can bond over your mutual gayness,” Pidge says.

I smack my face with the palm of my hand. Lance yells, “I’m not gay!”

They shut the door. We’re alone.

“Sooooo…” Lance trails off.

“Yeah?”

Lance shuffles his feet. He looks up slowly, his demeanor changing from shy to mischievous. “So do you have pictures of your emo phase on your phone?”

I mean, I do, but not a ton. I wasn’t all that camera friendly when I was younger. Hell, I’m not now. I don’t know what it is, but I can never manage to hold my phone at the right angle. I can’t show him that. Before I get the chance to tell him no, he whips his head around to where my phone is lying on the floor by the couch. He dives for it. I try to grab him but he slips out of my grasp. Damn is he slippery.

He runs around my coffee table as he flips through my photos (I never needed a passcode before). I can’t help thinking of a particular photo where I tried eyeliner for the first time. Jesus. Let me die.

Eventually he lands on a video. Guitar strings are plucked, a soft crescendo building. I recognize the voice that starts singing. My voice. That’s…

“Lance, give it back,” I demand.

He shakes his head vigorously. His eyes are still on the screen.

I grab for it once. Twice. The third time I get it, almost throwing it backwards. 

“I told you to give it back,” I say.

“What’s the big deal? I already knew you play guitar.”

“Played. I don’t play anymore,” I say. “Don’t mess with my stuff.”

Lance looks bewildered. I get it I guess. I know I’m overreacting, but it’s private. It’s not like I changed my attitude all that much before and after he watched the video. I didn’t want him looking at any of it. I’m not being all that weird.

While I’m watching the blank phone screen, I hear the turn of a doorknob.

“Oh you son of a—” My door is open and Lance dashes inside. I swear I’m going to kill him. He’s got this problem with respect. No matter what, he’s always doing something to make me uncomfortable. I’m considering not even taking him home. He can walk for all I care.

Lance is crouching down in one corner of my room, fingers just above the strings of my guitar. He doesn’t touch, but I think he wants to. I don’t want to hear the sound if he does. I put my hand on his shoulder and knock him on his ass.

He’s unphased. He just looks at me with these eyes. They say, “You’ve just become my savior.”

“Dude. I need you to do me a favor.”

“If you want me to play for something there’s no fucking way.”

He shakes his head. “No, no, no. Just for me.”

What.

“I’m sorry, say that again? I’m pretty sure I heard you ask me to play guitar for _you_.”

“So, hear me out,” he starts. “So you know how I like writing and space? I’m writing this thing and I have this issue where I can’t write without the right music.”

I raise an eyebrow. “So why don’t you look online? I’m sure there’s something—”

“I’ve tried for this one. Trust me. I don’t even really know what I’m looking for. I need help. I don’t know what you know how to play, but I’m sure if you just keep playing, something will work.”

That is the most ridiculous reason I’ve ever heard for wanting to hear me play. Honestly I would’ve been more likely to say yes if he just wanted to make fun of the emo stuff. I still wouldn’t say yes, but I’d be closer to doing it. “Why would I want to help you?” 

“Look, you help me out with this, I will pay for your dinner every time I come over.”

What is it with these people and getting me to do things because of food? This time, I don’t know, though. It feels like it’s been years since I last played, and I don’t even know how to handle touching the strings anymore. I don’t deserve to go back to all of it. I fucked up already. I gave up. There’s no point in starting something I won’t finish.

“No.”

“Oh come on,” he whines.

I don’t know what he expected. Well, I do. He thought I’d just say yes without complaint. I guess I gave him the impression that he can have whatever he wants from me. I’m an idiot. Should’ve stopped while I was ahead. I wish I didn’t have work that day I met his friends. Maybe I wouldn’t be here.

“Well what about just playing the music on your phone? You can curate shit and I’ll just work with what you choose.” He starts mumbling something. I think I hear him say something about eventually something real thing.

I sigh. I guess I could do that much for dinner. He’s irritating, but if I’m doing him a favor he might not suck as much as usual. 

“Okay, but I choose what we eat. No complaints.”

He groans, but he can’t hide the smile on his face. It’s weird how he can’t stop smiling. Even when he’s pouting he’s smiling a little. It’s—

 _Stop_.

“Alright, time for you to go home,” I pick him up off the ground and feel his upper arms. They feel as strong as they looked. I’m legitimately impressed. I can’t imagine Lance working all that hard in his life.

“Lead the way!”

We get out to the garage and his jaw drops. He approaches my bike with the same hesitance, hands hovering over the seat. Eventually he strikes a pose, his arms spread apart like he’s presenting my own bike to me. 

“This is yours?!” he says.

“Yep.” I throw him the helmet Shiro wore whenever I had to give him a ride. I hope Lance isn’t like Shiro. He had a problem with screaming in my ear no matter how many times he rode with me. He could act mature, but he sure was a kid when it came to doing anything remotely dangerous.

Lance is still commenting on the shininess and on the fact that I might actually be Mr. Cool Guy. I have to bite my lip to keep from showing the pride filling me up. It’s been a long time since someone admired her. 

“How did you not tell me about this before?”

“I didn’t want you asking for rides,” I say.

“Well now I’m getting rides all the time!”

“Just get on behind me and wear the helmet.” I get on the seat and wait for the familiar depression of someone behind me. It doesn’t come. Instead, he stands there, hand cupped behind his neck.

“So, where should I be holding?” he asks.

Oh. Right. I forgot. It’s one thing for Shiro to hold onto me, but this is Lance. He may be bi, but I doubt he wants to do some close quarters stuff with me. Although, he does get in my personal space all the time. I think about the time he leaned on my shoulder as he fell asleep. His breath tickled my neck with shallow breaths.

_Again. Shut up._

“Just wrap your arms around my waist. Haven’t you seen this in movies?” Yeah. Romantic ones.

“Yeah. ‘Course.”

He does as he’s told and I feel butterflies when his hands first connect with my body. He doesn’t wrap around me immediately, instead sliding his hands along my sides and stomach until he links them together. 

We zoom off and he tightens the loose grip he had on me. He doesn’t scream. 

“Jesus Christ this is a messed up feeling,” he says. “How do you do this all the time?”

I barely hear him in the first place and figure he doesn’t need an answer. Instead I yell back, “I need directions to your place.”

He leans forward a bit to talk in my ear. It warms up as he tells me when to turn. Every time we do he grips my shirt, fabric balling in his fists. It’s so distracting I miss one of the turns.

When we get to his apartment, he’s a wobbly mess. The vibration from the bike must’ve made him a bit numb. The first time isn’t always easy. 

He regains his land legs and makes his way up the sidewalk. He turns back and calls, “Don’t forget our deal!”

I shoo him off and go home myself. It feels strangely cold. I don’t remember any kind of chill. The only part of me that’s warm are my ears. Somehow I can still feel him.

  


* * *

  


**From: Lance**  
**so youre not gonna forget right**

 **From: Lance**  
**cause i cant write im serious**

 **From: Lance**  
**save meeeee**

 **From: Keith**  
**I already told you I’d do it. I won’t forget.**

 **From: Lance**  
**youre the best**

 **From: Keith**  
**I’m doing this for the food, not for you.**

 **From: Lance**  
**yeah yeah**

 **From: Lance**  
**go ahead and tell yourself that**

 **From: Lance**  
**hey…**

 **From: Lance**  
**so what do your parents think about you dropping out**

 **From: Keith**  
**Uh...I guess I don’t know.**

 **From: Lance**  
**what do you mean**

 **From: Keith**  
**Well, depends on which ones you’re talking about.**

 **From: Keith**  
**Well, I guess it’s the same answer either way.**

 **From: Lance**  
**whats with bein all cryptic and shit**

 **From: Lance**  
**wait did you tell them**

 **From: Keith**  
**I can’t. They died.**

 **From: Lance**  
**oh shit**

 **From: Lance**  
**im sorry**

 **From: Lance**  
**well i guess i didnt know them so i dont know if sorry is the right word**

 **From: Lance**  
**oh my god did i ever say something rude**

 **From: Lance**  
**if so i will hereby declare that i am a dick**

 **From: Lance**  
**no question you can have that**

 **From: Keith**  
**Lance.**

 **From: Keith**  
**Shut up.**

 **From: Lance**  
**im sorry**

 **From: Keith**  
**It’s okay. You didn’t say anything weird.**

 **From: Lance**  
**okay good**

 **From: Lance**  
**well i have an early class tomorrow**

 **From: Lance**  
**see ya**

 **From: Keith**  
**Night.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god. I think I feel as tired as Keith probably does from all that interaction. I had to rewrite those scenes ten thousand times before they felt right. I'm glad I ended up settling on something. Perfectionism is annoying.
> 
> I actually don't know how I got this done today because I was at a small convention called CoastCon yesterday. It wasn't a lot of time out of the day, but man. That was a lot of walking. Nice to have a con so close though. Got some stuff I probably didn't need, but it's all cute!
> 
> I'm hoping to get some scenes of Keith alone in the next one. I feel like it's been forever without him being his little mess of a self. Hopefully I'll fit that in somewhere. Hopefully.
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading! I'll start working on chapter 4 ASAP.


	4. Feeling Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Song:** _I’m Still Here (Jim’s Theme)_ by John Rzeznik

* * *

_You’re held back by_  
_Invisible strings_  
_Oh does someone have the scissors_  
_To cut the lies you create?_

* * *

“This is going nowhere.” I say.

“It’s not like you have shit to do,” Lance says. “Plus, I haven’t ordered dinner yet. What do you want?”

It’s been like this for a couple weeks now. Lance comes over, I play music, he maybe writes something down, he orders dinner, then he leaves. So far I’m not seeing any progress in his work, so I have no idea when this little project ends. I honestly don’t get what he’s looking for. I skip song after song and yet he’s not satisfied with anything.

“Wait, stop on that one for a sec,” he says. I let the song play on for another 30 seconds before he shakes his head. “Nope. Next.”

“Okay so tell me what you want.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “It’s not like I’m a master of all things music related. I’m just playing random shit at this point.”

He looks up to the ceiling and thinks. “I don’t know. There’s just this part I’m at and I don’t know how to write it without something...motivating? But in this whole ‘beginning an adventure that will tear me away from home forever’ kinda thing. Bittersweet kinda? Seriously I don’t know.”

He gives me so much to work with. He keeps telling me he needs something motivational, but everything I play isn’t good enough.

“What genre do you want?” I ask.

“Like I said, _I don’t know_.”

I groan. “Dude we’re wasting so much time here.”

“You’re telling me!” he yells. “I’m the one that needs to get this down. You don’t have to do anything.”

“I have to deal with you for hours on end.”

He crosses his arms and pouts. “It’s not like this is ideal for me either, but I need help and Pidge and Hunk aren’t helpful in this department.”

Ugh. I know that. Even though I’m getting dinner out of it, part of me is doing this because he’s serious. He gives each song complete attention and doesn’t make me skip before giving it some time to play. His smile gets weaker the longer each night goes. By the time he leaves, he can’t even manage to lift the corner of his mouth. I know he’s working hard.

I keep playing songs, skipping over each one in turn. I’m seriously about to start playing Disney songs because this is getting ridiculous.

Wait. Idea. Shit, what’s that song? The one from _Treasure Planet_. Ugh. It might work if I can actually figure out the damn name.

“I’m getting Chinese. What do you want?”

“Chow mein and orange chicken,” I say absentmindedly. God dammit. It’s on the tip of my tongue. Something about being here. I type “Treasure Planet” into the search bar and find the album. 

GOT IT.

“Dude. Holy shit. I may have found it,” I say. This is actually exciting. Lance can finally get something done. Seeing him in a slump is brutal. The world isn’t right when he’s basically a puddle. Hopefully this’ll make things better.

I pause for dramatic effect, then I hit play. An acoustic guitar starts up accompanied by light drumming.

_I am a question to the world_  
_Not an answer to be heard_  
_Or a moment that’s held in your arms_

Lance perks up. I swear his ears twitch backwards to hear the song better. He hasn’t said anything. No “stop.” No “next.” No “wait.” The entirety of the room is filled up with the music distorted by the mediocre quality of my phone speakers. 

_You don’t know me_  
_And I’ll never be what you want me to be_

In the second verse, the drums increase in complexity and the guitar grows louder. The bass gives it more backbone. The lyrics are more angry, more confrontational. Lance turns around and stares at my phone. There’s a flickering in his eyes. It’s something amazing.

The chorus rushes in. The declaration.

_And I want a moment to be real_  
_Wanna touch things I don’t feel_  
_Wanna hold on and feel I belong_

_And how can the world want me to change_  
_They’re the one that stay the same_  
_They don’t know me_  
_‘Cause I’m not here_

We listen to the rest. When the motif from the beginning returns, he grins. It’s the biggest I’ve ever seen on his face. I did it. I fucking did it.

“Holy shit, dude,” he whispers.

“Holy shit, dude!”

In a flash he turns back and furiously writes into his notebook. “Play that whole album. This is exactly what I needed.” He doesn’t talk for basically the rest of the night. I grab the food when it shows up and set it down next to him. He doesn’t touch it until he’s done scratching away at the paper.

I miss the feeling he’s having. Sometimes you hear a song and it just hits you right. You have to listen to it over and over again before you’re even close to satisfied. Even if you stop listening to it for a while, when you come back to it, it reminds you of the feeling of first hearing it. It’s magic. Pure magic.

I look at my guitar in the corner, lonely as can be. I remember learning how to play this song back when I was a kid. Jim was always my hero. I wanted to go out on adventures and explore the stars with a band of pirates. Back then I didn’t get his whole obsession with the father figure thing, but I definitely get the feeling of missing things you once had. God do I get that.

I want to go over there and throw my guitar strap over my neck. I want to play around with the strings and see if something interesting comes out. I want to create a sound with so much intensity that it consumes my mind. I want it to be all I think about. I got close to that intensity so many times when I used to play. Maybe I could do it now. 

I can’t. I promised myself. I don’t get to jump back in like I didn’t abandon all of it. The only bit I get to keep is what comes through my headphones. Playing isn’t an option anymore. 

It takes Lance forever before he finishes. He’s scribbled ten pages of notes (or plot, can’t tell honestly) all over the pages he worked with. I check my phone and it’s just after midnight. The time isn’t abnormal, but usually he comes over pretty late. He got here at a dinner time a family would approve of.

“Woo!” Lance stretches his arms. “I don’t remember the last time I wrote anything that I didn’t think was bullshit. Thanks, man.”

I feel heat rise in my cheeks, but not because I’m nervous or embarrassed. I’m just happy. I’m happy I could help someone out with music. Even though I don’t play it, listening is what saves me from the panic attacks and the depression. It keeps the loneliness out and excites the mind. I don’t usually get to share music with other people.

“So when are you gonna let me see what you’re writing?” I ask. He hasn’t told me what he’s working on specifically. I know it’s some kind of sci-fi, but he won’t say anything more. It’s yet another reason why it took me this long to find the right music.

“No way. I’m not giving this to someone who’s gonna use it against me,” he says.

“You asked me to play music for you, but you can’t handle letting me read a couple pages?”

“Not like I was asking to see your compositions or anything.” His lips are downturned. “You were just gonna play stuff other people made. It’s not the same thing.”

I feel the strong urge to grab the notes out of his hands. Why not? He does the same shit to me all the time. It’s not like I was planning on making fun of it. I know what it’s like to show other people your work. It’s fucking terrifying. Laughing at something right in front of the artist who made it is evil. He didn’t make fun of my playing. Why would I make fun of his writing?

“If I promise not to say a word about it, will you let me read?” I ask.

He narrows his eyes. I guess bonding doesn’t go both ways sometimes. I get it. Art is a touchy subject. I guess I just want to know what I’m helping him work towards.

“Never mind you don’t—”

“You get three pages. That’s it.”

He thrusts them toward me and I take them, careful not to bend them out of shape.

I read.

When I finish, he’s turned away from me, playing with his phone. He’s just opening apps, flicking his fingers over the screen a couple times, then going to the home screen. I tap his shoulder and he only shows me the side of his face. I hand back the pages. I promised I wouldn’t say anything, but I want to tell him. I don’t know if it’ll help or piss him off, but here goes.

“It’s good.”

He gives a weak chuckle. “I know it’s good. It’s by me.”

I don’t think he believes me, so I say it again.

“I know.”

“I’m serious.”

His mouth forms a small “o.” “Are you fucking with me?” He tries to sound harsh, but it’s shaky at best.

I shake my head. I’m really not. It’s well-written despite the fact that he hasn’t gone back and edited it yet. He’s got passion for his story. All I learned from the limited information is that it’s about a boy who dreams of reaching the stars. He’s finally getting the chance to go and he’s getting cold feet. It’s simple, but it’s sweet. I never thought Lance would have it in him to write something like this. Lance doesn’t seem like the dreamer type, but he also doesn’t seem like he could be serious either. Maybe I’m wrong about both.

He has a sheepish grin on his face.

“So now you definitely have to play something for me.”

God dammit. I don’t know why we can’t have a good moment without him saying something annoying. He never gives up.

“I told you before and I’ll tell you again: I’m not playing for you.”

Lance leans back, hands overlapping on his chest. “I let myself be vulnerable for you and you can’t take down a brick or two from your weird ass wall?”

I groan. “Dude, it’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

I can feel my bones strain against the skin of my knuckles. “Because I got kicked out. Already told you.”

“So?”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. What does he mean “so”? I can’t just go back like I didn’t quit playing. I can’t pretend that it’s a possibility. I’ve wasted too much energy freaking out about my music. I’m done with that. I’ve wasted too much time anyways. There’s no point anymore.

“So I don’t play anymore,” I say.

“Oh come on,” he says. “You can’t even try playing again? It’s not like I’m asking you to play at a concert.”

I look down. He won’t stop.

“You gotta quit with the brooding stuff and just get back into it. I can tell you care about it but you’re too chicken to try,” he taunts. “Guess you really aren’t as cool as me. I’d never give up.”

Jesus Christ will you shut up?

“You don’t get it,” I say, holding back my anger.

“What don’t I get?” he says. He’s facing me full on. From down here he towers above me. I’m not letting him get the upper hand. He’s not just gonna swoop in and make me do whatever he wants. No fucking way. 

“You think I don’t want to jump back in?” I ask, louder than I mean but shit I need him to stop. “You think I don’t spend all my time thinking about playing my guitar for hours on end? I do. I fucking do, but I can’t. I got kicked out of school for a reason. I’m weak. They saw it. I don’t get to play again because I already know it’s a waste of time trying. Now will you just fucking drop it?”

I see him move closer from the corner of my eye. “Don’t,” I warn.

He opens his mouth once, twice, but it closes each time. On the third attempt, he finds the words he’s looking for.

“I won’t ask anymore. Sorry,” he says.

I don’t look. I can’t look. I know if I look I’m gonna regret everything I said. I’ll take it all back. I meant it all. I’m not apologizing for defending a decision I made a long time ago. He doesn’t get to decide for me. He doesn’t get it.

He starts gathering his things. “Don’t worry about taking me home. I’ll call Hunk to pick me up.”

I can hear it. I don’t want to hear it. He sounds messed up. His voice is wobbly. It’s not like him. I only told him the truth. Why does he get to be upset about it?

The front door closes and finally I’m alone. I pull my knees into myself and place my forehead in the slight gap. I didn’t say anything wrong. I didn’t say anything wrong. I didn’t say anything—

I am a complete asshole.

  


* * *

  


Since then, Lance hasn’t come back. I’m trying to blame it on the fact that they all have midterms, but it’s not working. I fucked up. I was right; he doesn’t understand. For that reason alone I know he didn’t think what he said was anything major. He thought he was just helping me get back into an old hobby like I just got bored and needed a little push. I don’t think I ever told him why I don’t play. Great job, Keith. Making things awkward since 1997.

The familiar chime of a text message comes in. I answer immediately, but it’s not him. 

****

**From: Pidge**  
**Soooo a little birdie told me your birthday is next tuesday**

****

**From: Pidge**  
**And by birdie i mean matt**

****

**From: Pidge**  
**And by matt i basically mean shiro**

****

**From: Pidge**  
**You’re officially not allowed to make plans**

****

**From: Keith**  
**Don’t worry about it. I’m not really into birthdays anyways.**

****

**From: Pidge**  
**I literally give zero shits about your problems**

****

**From: Pidge**  
**I need a party after exams and this is my best excuse so we’re doing this**

****

**From: Pidge**  
**Plus nobody gets out of their 21st**

Oh right. I guess I didn’t really think anything of it ‘cause I don’t drink all that often. I guess it makes sense to do something, especially if I’ve got friends willing to hang out with me. Regardless, I need some Pidge and Hunk time. It’s been awhile.

Friends, huh.

I don’t know when I started calling them that, but it doesn’t feel weird. I mean, they’re always bothering me, but they do it in a way that makes it fun to be with them. Yeah. Friends is the right word.

**From: Keith**  
**Fine. Fine. What’s the plan?**

**From: Pidge**  
**Nope**

**From: Pidge**  
**We’re planning this without you**

**From: Pidge**  
**Just accept it and don’t you dare work on tuesday**

**From: Keith**  
**Got it.**

If Lance is pushy, then Pidge is shove-y. Saying no to her means nothing. She’ll do what she’s going to do with or without your permission. No doubt she’d kidnap me if I didn’t agree to this. I’d rather go willingly.

I don’t know what to do with myself for now. Texting Pidge and Hunk can only take up so much time, and I don’t even want to think about contacting Lance. He hasn’t texted me at all since that night. Maybe it’s best if I do the same.

Instead I pop headphones in and clean my room. Since Lance started coming over, I tried to push my stuff out of the way so he could have a place to sit, but it wouldn’t hurt to actually put shit away. I throw clothes in the hamper and put up books I bought recently and haven’t had the chance to read yet. I pick up candy wrappers, take-out bags, and torn papers and throw them out. When I’m done, I feel like I’m in a stranger’s room.

I didn’t spend a lot of time in here after I got kicked out. The more and more I looked at my instruments, the more it fucked me up inside. After that I started sleeping in the living room, away from the mess I created.

I guess I’m used to running away. The only person I’ve really confided to recently is Shiro, so telling Lance anything is a miracle. I don’t even know how I told Lance I got kicked out in the first place. Maybe I should stop with all that. It’s not worth dealing with. The second I say something, it goes over well for two minutes, then someone gets hurt. I don’t wanna feel guilty.

The problem is, the three of them aren’t just anyone. As much as I want to hide everything, I can’t. They find out sooner or later. They have this way of pulling information out of me. It’s so easy. In the end, they don’t give me shit for who I am. Even Lance left disappointed, not angry. They may not get me completely, but they might know what it’s like to be me sometimes. It’s unnerving and soothing at the same time.

I have to make things right again, but how? I thought Lance would bounce back, but the fact that he hasn’t makes me doubt that it’s gonna be easy. I have to talk to him. I have to make it so he can’t avoid me. Maybe I could find a way on my birthday, but he might not even be there. I need a plan.

**From: Keith**  
**How many people are gonna be there on Tuesday? Gotta figure out how dead I’m gonna be after.**

**From: Hunk**  
**pidge told you? perfect.**

**From: Hunk**  
**it’s only us really, unless you wanted more people? we can do that.**

**From: Keith**  
**No no no. That’s fine. Thanks, man.**

**From: Hunk**  
**no problem! also…**

**From: Hunk**  
**did something happen with you and lance?**

Ugh. Should’ve known he’d be obviously upset. He has a fascination with dramatics. I’m surprised he hasn’t told Hunk the full story yet.

**From: Keith**  
**Kinda. Yeah.**

**From: Hunk**  
**can I ask what happened?**

I don’t know if I want to get into the whole thing, but I think I have to. I need Hunk’s help. He’s Lance’s roommate. He’s gotta know how Lance’s brain works.

**From: Keith**  
**I screwed up like a complete asshole and now I’m pretty sure he thinks he’s the asshole so I don’t know what to do.**

**From: Keith**  
**I think I need help.**

**From: Hunk**  
**oh dude. i’m sorry. was it friendship-ending bad or just regular fight bad**

**From: Keith**  
**Well, I was hoping you could tell me.**

**From: Keith**  
**I have this problem with stuff that happened after I got kicked out and he was trying to be nice and I just shut him down. He hasn’t talked to me or come over since.**

**From: Hunk**  
**wait, you got kicked out?!**

I might as well tell everyone in the world what happened at this point. Apparently my brain seems to want to. I go to send another message but Hunk beats me to it.

**From: Hunk**  
**sorry. not the point.**

**From: Hunk**  
**well he doesn’t seem like he doesn’t want to be friends anymore. he still talks about you all the time. he just looks a little messed up when he does.**

**From: Keith**  
**Fuck. God I am such an asshole.**

**From: Hunk**  
**i’m not psyched about it, but you don’t seem like you meant to hurt him. you just need to apologize.**

**From: Keith**  
**I know, but I don’t think a text is gonna do it.**

**From: Hunk**  
**i think i know a way i can help you out**

  


* * *

  


The three of them come to pick me up from my apartment. Pidge claims that she’s getting me wasted so I’m not allowed to drive. They’re out front by Hunk’s car. For such a big guy, you’d think he’d own a truck or something, but it’s just a small beat-up sedan.

“Hey,” I say.

“Keith!” Hunk comes and grabs me up in a bear hug. “Happy birthday, man!”

Pidge nudges me in the stomach with her elbow. “Happy birthday. You ready for tonight?”

I laugh. “I’m pretty sure none of you are legal yet, so I doubt we’re going anywhere insane.”

I walk toward the car and there’s Lance, leaning against it. “Hey,” he says, not looking me in the eyes.

“Hi.”

“Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.”

It gets quiet, so much so that even the crickets aren’t chirping. It’s eerie.

“Anyways,” Hunk says, pushing me along. “Let’s head out. Don’t wanna be late.”

I jump in the back with Pidge and Hunk gets in the driver’s seat. The ride is anything but silent, but it’s weird. Usually it’s deafening being with them, but Lance isn’t trying all that hard to join in. He gives a few weak chuckles, but he doesn’t manage anything more. I hate seeing him like this. I hate even more that it’s my fault.

We park down the street from a building with blacked out windows. A giant neon sign shows the name of the place: The Red Lion. I’ve heard of it. I almost went here a couple times but lost the nerve. After everything happened, I just didn’t make the time. It’s a music venue and the shows are free. They must be booking good bands ‘cause the only way I see them staying open is making money on the alcohol.

“Here we are!” Pidge says, hands on her hips. Her eyes are glinting in the lights.

“Wait, isn’t this place gonna be dead? It’s Tuesday,” I say. It’s a college town and most students wouldn’t be out on a weekday. 

We walk in and get our stamps. Pidge, Hunk, and Lance have to get under 21 marks much to Pidge and Lance’s chagrin. There’s more people than I expected. It’s not filled to the brim and there’s enough walking space, but it takes us a second to find a table for the four of us. 

There’s a table we grab in the middle of the room towards one side of the tiny stage. 

“Lance said the band playing should be good. He spent hours figuring out the best place to go,” Pidge says. “I wish I could say I helped with the planning, but this was all him.” She’s got a weird look in her eyes. Her upper lip is twitching like she’s trying so hard not to break her poker face. 

I turn and see Lance who’s got his chin in his hand and is looking anywhere but at me. “You planned this?” I ask. I’m pretty sure Pidge only told me after Lance and I got in that argument. That means he had to have planned it after then.

“Yeah,” he grumbles.

Oh my God I feel like the worst person on Earth. He planned my birthday party after I yelled at him. I don’t deserve my friends.

“Thanks.”

He mumbles something else but I don’t catch it. A waitress comes over and asks for our drink orders. I try to get a Coke, but Pidge stops me. 

“He’s getting alcohol tonight. It’s his 21st. Don’t let him get anything non-alcoholic.”

Well, I guess it’s not that big of a deal tonight. I’m not driving.

“Do you have anything from Belching Beaver? Maybe the blonde honey ale?” Pidge asks.

I’m surprised. “When did you learn your way around beer?”

The waitress checks my ID and goes to put in our orders. 

“The thing about graduate school is the parties are for rich kids,” she says. “I get the chance to experiment.”

I hear clapping begin and face the stage. Three guys and a girl get on the stage and ready themselves at their instruments. When they’ve settled themselves, the frontman introduces them.

“How you guys doin’ tonight?” He’s greeted with whoops in response. “Awesome, awesome. Well, we have a great set for you guys tonight. Enjoy.”

They start playing. It’s so rough. The drummer is trying to hold it together, but the bassist has other ideas. The rhythm is off, but when I look around me, people don’t seem to mind. They’re enjoying it. Instead of focusing on the technical stuff, I watch their faces. Their eyes are bright in the lights. They’re putting their entire bodies into their music. They love what they do. I can’t help but smile. It’s beautiful.

They finish their first song and transition into something less intense, but the energy is still there. It must’ve been nerves that was throwing them off before because they’re tighter now. The bassist isn’t rushing and everyone else has figured out how to stay together. It sounds way better. 

They play a few more songs while I sip my beer (the second because Pidge won’t leave it alone). I can’t stop staring at the guitarist. He’s fumbling around a little bit, and I just want to replace him and do better. Energy doesn’t always make up for a lack of skill. God I want to be up there. I’m glad when they finish.

“Thank you everyone! We are Galra and we hope to see you again!”

Pidge stands and hurries everyone out of their seats. “Come on. We’ve got part 2 at my place.”

  


* * *

  


Pidge’s place looks like an explosion of color. Someone hung streamers on the ceilings and and walls. There’s a poster that says, “Happy 21st Birthday!” in marker. Looks like a kid drew it. I feel like I’m 10 instead of 21. 

Hunk immediately disappears into the kitchen and Pidge heads upstairs. I’m left alone in the living room with Lance. This may be my cue to talk to him. 

“Hey, Lance I—” I’m interrupted by Pidge darting to put presents on the coffee table. She rushes to turn off the lights. Hunk comes out with a birthday cake complete with what is probably 21 candles. The glow makes his face look eerie. I laugh. They’re ridiculous. They didn’t have to do all this.

They start singing. Even the dead look on Lance’s face from earlier has softened. I don’t remember the last time I got to do this. This is stupid. This is so dumb. They’re seriously little kids I swear.

Before I blow out the candles they tell me to make a wish. I don’t know what I want right now. For some reason I’m drawing a complete blank. I have a lot right here. Is it selfish to ask for anything more? I don’t think and blow them out. There was probably a wish in there somewhere, but I don’t know what it was. I don’t really believe in wishes or anything, but I hope I picked something good.

The light switch is flipped back on and they set the cake on the dining room table. They give me the biggest piece they can, which is saying something ‘cause they’re tearing into the thing. I bite into it. It’s just plain vanilla, but there’s something more. It’s probably the sweetest cake I’ve ever had. I don’t mind. It’s better this way.

We gather around the coffee table and they hand me my gifts one by one. They don’t half-ass anything. They’re always so over the top. My lips won’t stop pulling backwards, threatening to make me smile. I have to hold back. It’ll look weird if I smile too much.

Pidge gives me headphones she modified herself. She claims that $10 headphones are bullshit and an assault on the eardrums. I put them on and it’s like they’re barely there. I’m gonna enjoy these.

Hunk made the cake, which I think is more than enough, but he got me something too. He made a book of recipes he wrote himself. 

“Everything in there doesn’t take more than 20 minutes to make and nothing is complicated.” he says. “I figure this’ll get you to actually go grocery shopping. You worry me.”

Last is Lance. He won’t look me in the eyes, and he barely smiles. It should be light, but it’s heavy in my hands. I open it to find a Blu-ray version of _Treasure Planet_. 

“I didn’t see a copy of it anywhere in your apartment, so I figured you need one,” he says.

It’s official. I hate him. He can’t do this to me. First the band and now this. What’s worse than being an asshole? A motherfucker? A douchebag? Whatever it is, I’m that.

I get up. “Hey, I’m gonna go use your bathroom real fast.”

“Oh, okay,” Pidge says.

I try to make my walking speed normal, but once I’m out of sight, I run. I shut the door and slip down onto the floor. They’re too much. They’re so fucking annoying sometimes, but then they do this. They bring me in without trying. I don’t know what to do with this.

I’m holding back the tears, but just barely. I don’t deserve this. I’ve never deserved this, yet here it is. They’re stupid gifts, but I can tell they’re well thought out. I didn’t even know what I wanted. 

There’s a knock at the door. “I’ll be right out.”

“Keith, are you okay?”

My breath hitches. It’s Lance. He’s actually talking to me. 

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m fine.”

“Can I come in then?”

I need to talk to him, but I’m messed up right now. All that preparation is out the window. I didn’t think he was gonna try all that hard for my birthday, but he did. I can’t see him right now. I don’t know what’ll happen if I do.

“Yeah.”

But I have to do it anyway.

I back away and lean against the wall on the opposite side. He peeks in and finds me there. He closes the door gently behind him and sits down where I was a moment ago.

“I’m sorry if that was weird,” he says.

If by weird he means unexpectedly treating me better than I deserve, then yeah, it’s weird.

“It wasn’t weird. It was,” I sigh, “kinda perfect.

“And don’t you dare say sorry to me. That’s my line.”

His eyes widen a bit. “Wait, why are you sorry?”

“Because I was being an asshole. You didn’t know how I felt about playing again. That’s not your fault. I just don’t know how to deal with all that yet, so I’ve been avoiding it. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Well, still. I knew you were uncomfortable and I kept going.” His speech speeds up. “I just push and push and push. Everyone know I’m obnoxious and I’ve got nothing going for me. Pidge and Hunk are geniuses, and I can tell you’ve got this wicked talent when it comes to anything music-related. I just know. So I’m just Lance the guy who’s funny sometimes. I didn’t want you to give up on something because you’re special. I didn’t know things were complicated, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t overstep. I’m sorry.”

I kick his foot. “Stop saying sorry. It’s seriously okay.”

He puts his head on top of his knees. I’d give anything right now to see him laugh just once tonight.

“Soooo. You think I’m special?” I raise my eyebrows and give a cocky grin.

He turns bright red. “What? No. Maybe? I don’t know.” He cups the back of his neck with his hand. “It’s not like that’s huge news.”

“I know, but I’m touched you finally admitted it.”

He kicks my leg and I fall over a bit. I kick him back and we end up in full-out war. We’re cackling like idiots the whole time. After a few minutes Hunk comes to check on us.

“Is everything good?” he asks.

Lance chuckles. “Everything ‘s good.”

  


* * *

  


Hunk drives me home. Apparently it was his idea to send Lance my way. It wasn’t the original plan, but it worked out. Before the plan was to leave us in the living room while he and Pidge slept in her room. I think I like how this worked out better.

I dump all the things in my bag onto my bed and spy an envelope I don’t remember having. On the outside in blocky letters is my name. I’ve seen that handwriting before.

I tear it open and inside I find several pages folded together. The first page is a note to me.

_Keith,_

_Happy birthday, man. Can’t believe you don’t hate us anymore. Well, I don’t know if I’m included in that us, but who cares! You’re here and that’s pretty cool in my opinion. So, thanks?_

_I know this isn’t much of a present, so maybe don’t count it as one. It’s more of an apology for the other day. I didn’t mean to push you like that. You shouldn’t have to take shit from people, least of all me. I’m sorry._

_Anyways, hope you like it. If you don’t, you can think of making fun of me as a present. I won’t fight back._

_Lance_

I unfold the rest of the pages and read. It’s his book. There are ten pages in total of what I think is the first draft. I take it in carefully, making sure I can tell him exactly what I think later. This is good. His ideas have form, and the form is looking a little like magic. He needs to know he’s special too. He’s not just some obnoxious asshole.

I finish it. My heart is threatening to stop at any minute. I want to say it’s because of his writing, but it’s not just that.

I like Lance.

Wait. No. That isn’t it. I’ve felt this way for guys before, guys I never got serious with. Whenever they treat me with any kind of favor I get excited. He’s got a nice face, a nice body, and he’s bi. I’m not gonna mistake this for anything else. Besides, before I could just sleep with the guy and it’d be over. That’s not really a possibility with Lance, and it makes things easier on me. 

This isn’t a problem. It doesn’t need to be a problem.

**From: Lance**  
**hey do you wanna meet tomorrow**

**From: Lance**  
**i figured we could go somewhere that isnt your cramped apartment**

**From: Keith**  
**Sure. Where did you have in mind?**

See? Not a problem.

  


* * *

  


I’ve been laying on my couch for the last half an hour waiting for Lance to knock on my door. I know he’s gonna be late, but I have a weird thing about being ready a thousand years in advance. I like being prepared.

_Knock knock._

I force myself to walk slowly to the door and open it. Instead of Lance, there’s a delivery guy with a clipboard and a large box.

“Sign, please.”

I do as I’m told then drag the box inside. It’s not heavy considering its size. I don’t remember ordering anything. Hell, I rarely order things in the first place. Please tell me they didn’t get the wrong address. I don’t want to have to talk to someone about their package being delivered to the wrong place. Luckily I don’t have to. The sticker has my name on it.

I fumble around in the kitchen drawers for some scissors and begin cutting the tape. I pull out a few packing papers and inside is something gift-wrapped in a sheer material. The first thing I grab is the note tucked between the package and the wall of the box. 

_Dear Keith,_

_Happy 21st. Figured you’re in need of an upgrade. Sorry I can’t be there, but I’ll make sure to come home as soon as I can._

_Love, Shiro_

What does he mean in need of an—

No. No no no no no. Please tell me he didn’t.

I open the drawstring and find exactly what I didn’t need: an acoustic guitar I’ve been pining for since I graduated middle school. I brush my fingers along the body. It’s alder. He spent a shit ton of money on this. Where the hell did he get that? He shouldn’t be spending this kind of money on me.

I hear the door again and make my way toward it, barely able to wrench my eyes away from the box. I see Lance and it shocks me back to reality. I almost forgot he was coming.

“‘Sup man,” he says. “Ready to go?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Hold on.”

He peers past my shoulder and sees the open box. “Whoa. What do we have here?” I don’t bother stopping him.

He pushes back a flap and also witnesses the worst gift I could’ve gotten at this moment in my life. He turns back to me, and I study the fibers of my carpet.

“Shiro may have gone overboard,” I say.

He keeps glancing at the box, then me, then the box, then me again. His eyebrows are knit together and he’s pushing his lips to one side.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

No.

“I’m fine.”

I’m freaking out.

“I’m gonna sit down for a second.” I slip into the space between the couch and my coffee table on the floor. It’s probably safest here. It’s starting. 

Not now not now not now. Please not now. Breathe. In four out four. Just like always. I can’t get my headphones right now ‘cause it’ll look weird, but I can do this. In four out four. Keep going. Maybe I should tell Lance to leave. We just got back to normal.

“Wait. Keith?” He kneels down next to me. “Talk to me.”

I would if I could. My breathing is getting worse. I need my headphones. He better not ask if I’m okay again ‘cause I’m not. I’m just not. I’m never okay. This is bullshit. Please go. It’s bad enough that I know I’m like this. 

Tears are forming in my eyes, but I won’t let them fall. I can’t right now. I need to calm down. Cool off. Now.

“Shit. Umm,” he says, whipping his head around, looking for something. “Water. Yeah. Let me go—”

“Don’t leave me.”

His eyes stay on me. “Okay. I’m right here.”

I can’t stop the tears. Hell, I know I don’t have control over this shit. I never do. It comes when it comes and I can’t do anything about it. I just have to let it take over and then I might come out the other side. Doesn’t mean I’m not fucking terrified. Doesn’t mean the walls don’t feel like they’re closing in. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to scream at Lance to leave so he doesn’t get to see me like this. I don’t want this.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” he asks. His voice is gentle. I shrug even though I’m not really sure what that’ll do to me. There’s a huge chance I’m gonna freak out on him, but honestly I’m in my head right now. My inner voice is busy telling me that I’m a fucking failure. I can’t really focus on anything else.

I must look disgusting. I feel disgusting. Hell, I’m disgusting. 

The whole world around me feels unreal, but the one thing dragging me back to Earth is the fingers grasping my hand. There’s no hesitation. They wrap around my own and squeeze. 

After a little while, I hear something. It’s a song. I can’t make out the words, but it sounds like a lullaby. I have to latch onto that. Anything is better than listening to my own brain. Please. Let me go long enough to think straight. 

I don’t know how long it is before my eyes clear up and I can see again. I’m so fucking tired. I wipe the snot and tears away and don’t look anywhere in Lance’s direction. Lance with his perfect face. God I’m disgusting.

His hand still hasn’t left mine. I don’t pull away either. I need this right now. I didn’t know I would, but I do.

“We’re gonna figure this out. Okay?” he says.

I blink slowly. Yeah. Sure. This is gonna work out _perfectly_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly can't believe I got this up. I think it has to do with finding the song so early on. I have a hard time writing until I have the theme song for the chapter, but this time I got it immediately. That _never_ happens. Guess me and this fic's Lance have the same problem.
> 
> I'm happy that Keith is finally getting some time with Pidge and Hunk. I felt like they weren't talking nearly enough. It doesn't need to be all Lance all the time. Gotta get Team Punk in there more.
> 
> Thank you to those of you who are reading! Chapter 5 is in progress and I can't wait to see what happens. Honestly I barely know what's going on before you guys do. I just write whatever I feel works in the moment and hope for the best. I don't know if that's a good way of doing this, but it's worked out for me so far.
> 
> Anyways! Can't wait to show chapter 5! It only gets fluffier from here.


	5. Hermit Crab

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Song:** _Between the Bars_ by Elliot Smith

* * *

_The world is a terror_  
_Until someone takes your hand_  
_Shows the beauty in the chaos_  
_The beauty in this space_

* * *

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” I ask, pacing back and forth in my living room. I can’t look at the guitar anymore. I couldn’t keep my eyes off it earlier, but that urge to stare is long gone.

“What do you mean? You don’t have to do anything with it,” Lance says.

I shake my head. “You don’t understand. This thing is expensive. More than Shiro should’ve spent on me. He’s gonna expect me to play it at some point. I used to practice like crazy. If I can’t even touch my old one, there’s no way I can play this one.” I run both hands through my hair. This is not happening. If there’s a deity of any sort, I’m sure it’s cracking up wherever it’s hiding.

“Well then we have to get you playing again,” Lance says as if it’s so simple. He knows already how messed up all this is for me. But he’s 100% right. The only way out is playing again, but I haven’t touched an instrument since May. Who knows what it’ll do to me to play now.

“When’s he coming back?”

I start listing off the holidays this semester in my head. There’s Thanksgiving, but it’s not really worth the cost when it’s only lasts a few days and you’re flying international. “Winter break.”

“Then we have time,” he says. 

I stop pacing and narrow my eyes at him. “We have two months. How the hell am I gonna pull this off in two months?”

“Umm.” He uses his hands to gesture towards himself, lowering and raising them for emphasis. “Did you forget that I’m literally the best, because I’m pretty sure I’m the best.”

He’s been here for some messed up shit. Hell, he stayed when I was having a panic attack and didn’t freak me out. He was calm. I needed that, but I don’t know. This is different. Panic attacks are short-term. Yeah, they happen at random points over time, but this is a long-term project. Plus, I’ve been handling the panic attacks for a while. The guitar is scarier. 

Although, maybe staying by my side is all I need. It’s not like he can play the guitar for me. I have to do that. If he’s just there to guide me through it and keep me calm, it could work out. I don’t have a choice here. I need to try something, anything, to keep Shiro from quitting school. He’s so close. This is his dream. I can’t fuck this up. I’ve done that too many times to count.

“If we’re gonna do this, I can’t start with playing,” I say. “That’s pushing it.”

He puts his hands on his hips and stares at the ceiling. “Well,” he starts, “we could start with you just looking at it. You haven’t done that since I got here.”

“Yeah.” I’m scared. I don’t wanna end up in hysterics again. I know it’s just looking at the guitar. I’ve done that plenty of times with my old one, but this isn’t the same thing. This is something beautiful, something that I could never take back even though it terrifies me. There’s an end point to this I can’t see. I’m freezing.

Lance sits down by the box and pats the carpet beside him. I still can’t move. I don’t think I can do this. There’s no way.

“I’m gonna be right here,” he says. 

I feel my muscles relax. I didn’t even know how much tension I was holding. I don’t feel perfect—honestly, I feel sick—but I can move. That’s enough for right now.

I join him on the floor and peek in. There it is. It might as well be my death sentence. My heart is racing more than it should. I don’t wanna lose it again. Please, don’t let me lose it again. In four out four. It works this time. I’m okay.

“I’m gonna set a timer for a minute. After that, you can stop.” He unlocks his phone and starts his stopwatch. 

I might as well examine the guitar while I’m here. I don’t think this’ll help if I don’t. The contrast of the wood grain and the rest of the body creates ovals and stripes, racing towards the fretboard which is only a shade or two darker. The strings shine, but no doubt they’re out of tune and need replacing soon. I never trust strings that come with the instrument because who knows how long it’s been in storage. 

God. This is mine. This is something I’ve wanted for so long, but now it feels like a sick joke. I know I had to lie, but part of me wishes I hadn’t. I wouldn’t have to feel this overwhelming sense of guilt. I wanna pay back every cent. I’ll spend the rest of my life paying it back when he knows the truth. I owe him that much.

It feels like it’s been longer than a minute, but I promised to keep looking. I feel a thousand emotions at once, but the fear is subsiding a little bit. I’m only looking. It’ll be worse later, but I’m only looking right now. I can do this.

“How much time do I have left?” I don’t look away.

“I maaaaay have let the timer go for longer than I said I would,” he says.

I whip my head around. “You are a complete asshole.”

He laughs. “Yeah, but if I didn’t do it you wouldn’t have given yourself a chance to go for more. You went for about three minutes.”

I can’t believe I’m happy that he lied to me. “You’re lucky that worked out.”

“No luck. All skill, baby.” He shoots me finger guns and I scoff. He’s such a kid. I’ll never know how he made it to adulthood.

“Now you’ve gotta touch it.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Are you insane?”

“I meant next time.” He holds his hands up to shield himself. “I’m not trying to freak you out. I promise.”

All of me is trying not to balk from this mountain. I’ve gotta climb a little at a time. I’m weak and I know this probably won’t work out, but I have to do this. Shiro is too important.

Lance stands up and reaches out an arm to me. “So, I think we should get outta here. How does that sound?”

Oh yeah. We were supposed to go somewhere. I check the time and it’s not all that late. 

“Yeah. Sure.” I grab his hand and he pulls me up. 

“You’ve got this.” 

God I hope so.

  


* * *

  


Lance yells directions in my ear and I’m realizing how much I missed this. It hasn’t been all that long, but it’s enough of a habit to feel weird when we skip. I used to feel nervous when he held onto me, but now I feel warm. It’s comfortable. 

We arrive at a place down by the beach that might as well be a shack. I haven’t been near the water in a while. The breeze from the ocean cuts through the rays of the sun, making it less unbearable than in the city. 

We take up seats at the counter and the girl working grins at us. 

“Where’ve you been, stranger? We were starting to think you died,” she says. She’s pretty. Her skin is darker than Lance’s, making her look even more flawless if that’s possible. Her tank top shows off narrow shoulders, but her build is athletic. It’s boyish, but it works on her. 

“Dealing with emo boy over here,” he says, nodding his head in my direction. “Keith, this is Asha. Asha, this is Keith.”

She leans over the counter and hugs him then does the same to me. I don’t know what to do with my hands exactly, so they just stay on the counter. 

She puts her hands on her hips and looks me over. “I thought you were exaggerating. He’s totally ho—“

“Okay!” Lance yells, clapping his hands together. “I’m starving. Mind getting him a menu?”

She giggles and winks at me. “Will do.”

I wonder when they met; how they met. I wonder if she’s seen the parts of Lance I’ve seen. I wonder if she misses him when he’s gone like I do. I wonder what secrets they have together.

I wonder all through lunch.

  


* * *

  


“Come on. I wanna show you something.” We leave the shack and he leads me down the beach towards a grouping of rocks midway between sea and the sand.

“Be careful. It’s super easy to slip,” he says, balancing himself with bare feet.

I follow in his steps the best I can. I can barely get any traction because of the algae. I trip myself up a couple times, but ultimately I stay standing. He stops at a shallow indent in the rocks and sits down to get a closer look. 

“Watch,” he says. I crouch down next to him, trying not to get my jeans wet.

The indent has a layer of sand at the bottom as well as rocks separate from the walls ranging from small to medium in size. Everything is covered in plants which sway in the current. Other than that, it doesn’t look like there’s anything going on.

I give him a look. “What am I supposed to be watching here?”

He shushes me and I sigh. After about a minute, something skitters across the tidepool and away from us along the rocks. I lose my balance and fall on my ass, cold water soaking through my jeans. This is never gonna dry. Lance is howling, absolutely losing his shit.

“Shut up,” I growl.

“You got scared by a hermit crab!” I’d push him over, but he’s wearing board shorts, so getting him wet wouldn’t do much. So much for any chance of retaliation.

He stands, still laughing, and holds a hand out. “Come on. You can’t stop with just one.”

We keep peering into the tidepools and they’re all so different. One is filled to the brim with sea urchins, warning me to keep my hands out with their dark spikes. Another has a couple sea stars clinging to the tidepool floor. One is red and the other is blue, creating a stark contrast that gives this world a little more brightness than the others. Each pool is teeming with life, and no two are the same. 

“They live in these little worlds and it’s all they ever know,” Lance says. “We look at them like they’re small and insignificant, but it’s everything to them. That’s a whole freakin’ ecosystem right there.”

I wonder what it’s like to live in their world. The plants probably don’t think all that much. They stay in place and hope they don’t get dislodged and thrown into the ocean, or worse on dry sand. The hermit crabs are different though. They have their own world, but they travel between theirs and others all the time. They’re like sea astronauts sorta. They don’t stay in one place for too long, but they always have somewhere to go back to. Every day must be an adventure.

We stay until the sun is settling itself down for the night. On our way off the rocks, I almost eat it, but Lance steadies my shoulders. “What is it with you and falling on your ass?”

I shrug his hands off. When we get down onto the sand, I turn to the ocean and gape.

“Whoa. Holy shit. Come see this. What is that?”

He gets closer to the shoreline. I move further in, getting my calves wet. I stop and he stops next to me. “It’s right there.”

“Where?”

I shove him into the water. He’s underneath for a moment and when he comes up he’s sputtering. When he finally realizes what happened, his eyes go dark. “You’re dead.”

I try to get away, but he’s faster. He grabs my arm and spins me around. He drags me deeper into the water before shoving me in too. I hold my breath just as I hit. I come up with hair in my eyes, push it back, and take my revenge. It’s back-and-forth. He may have been wearing board shorts, but he’s also wearing a t-shirt. Now we’re both acceptably soaked to the bone. 

I’m exhausted. We sit a few feet from the shoreline, still laughing. The sun is dipping below the horizon now.

“This is romantic as shit,” Lance says. His arm is against mine. I can’t help remembering the first night I stayed at Pidge’s. Then there’s earlier today. It’s weird. Every time I’m like this with him, I don’t feel odd. I feel comfortable, like this is the safest place in the world. I guess it’s because whenever we’re this close he’s trying to keep me sane. Well, maybe he’s not trying, but he does.

It’s been almost two months since I met him. At first he annoyed the shit out of me and I couldn’t wait to get rid of him. I hate to admit it, but maybe I’m wrong about people sometimes. No one is one note. I think I spent so much time comparing myself to other people that I couldn’t see that they’re like me: they’re more than their first impression.

“Hey, can I tell you something?”

“Yeah,” I say. After today, he could ask me what my deepest darkest secret is and I would probably tell him. He knows some of the worst parts of me already and he’s still here.

He fidgets a little. “I may be a tiny bit jealous of you.”

What? In what universe? “Why would you be jealous of me?”

“You know how I said you’ve got something more about you?”

“Yeah?”

“I mean it. After I saw the video of you playing, I knew for sure,” he says. “I was actually pissed when you told me you wouldn’t play anymore. I mean,” He picks up a bit of sand and lets it fall through his fingers, “I’ve spent my whole life trying to be something.

“My sister went through medical school and she’s working her way up to being a surgeon. My older brother is this insanely popular professor at the university he works at. I’m pretty sure he could teach wherever he wants. My younger brother hasn’t really done anything yet, but he plays piano pretty damn well.

“I know my writing kinda sucks. I don’t know what to do with it half the time and I want to give up, but there’s no way I can. Knowing that you wouldn’t play just _pissed_ me off. I didn’t know why you stopped, but in my head, it didn’t matter why.”

He looks the way he did when we talked in the bathroom. He’s hugging his knees to his chest, no longer touching any part of me. Oh yeah. I should talk to him about the birthday gift he gave me. I don’t know if it’s the right time, but I’ll tell him anyways.

“Your writing doesn’t suck,” I say. “I would know. You gave me your rough draft.”

He won’t look at me. “Oh. So you found that.”

“Was I not supposed to?”

“No! I mean, you were,” he says. He groans and hides his face in the gap between his knees and his chest. “I just wasn’t prepared to talk about it I guess.”

“Well, we’re talking about it,” I say. “I know how you feel about writing. You want everything to be perfect or else it’s not good enough. It took me a long time before I just let my compositions be what they were without messing with them or throwing them away. Don’t throw this away. I can tell the story is important to you. Be better than me.”

He leans back and looks to the sky. He’s got a small smile going. “I won’t quit and I’ve gotta keep being better than you. What’s the point of a rivalry if I’m not taking it seriously?”

“A shit rivalry, that’s for sure.”

He looks back to the horizon and we watch in silence. It’s been a long time since I could enjoy this. The blue of the afternoon sky blends into pinks and oranges and reds. I watch as the sky darkens into the same purple of the sea urchins. The stars are shining. I like to pretend I know which stars are supergiants, but I wouldn’t know at all. I wish I did. I wonder if Lance does.

“Hey, you haven’t come to the observatory in a while,” he says.

“Between you, Hunk, and Pidge, when would I have time for that?”

He chuckles. “Fair enough.”

Weirdly enough I didn’t miss it until he mentioned it. It used to be my only space to get out. Now I have Pidge’s and this beach probably. Oh and there’s Balmera too, and The Red Lion. God. When did the tiny world I built increase in size so much?

“Do you want me to visit you?” I ask.

He bumps my shoulder and we’re back to our positions from when we first sat down. “Duh. There’s only so much to do when the exhibits haven’t changed in months.”

I nod. “Then I’m obligated to go.”

He bumps me harder. “Don’t say it like I’m forcing you to do shit.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I mean, he is always forcing me, but I wanna go this time. It’d be cool to be a hermit crab for a while.

  


* * *

  


I’m exhausted. Kon decided to show up for work and he was worse than usual. He screamed at me in the back room, yet again, and then gave me tasks that took way past my shift to finish. He left before me, giving an evil grin like he just ruined my life. I swear to God if he just disappeared off the face of the Earth I wouldn’t give a shit.

I pull my phone out of my back pocket and collapse on the couch. There’s a few texts from the trio.

****

**From: Pidge**  
**Headphones working (‘◇’)?**

****

**From: Hunk**  
**thanks for apologizing to him, man. he really needed that.**

I text Pidge back first and tell her the headphones are amazing. They really are. The bass is so much more rounded and the highs are cleaner. Music never sounded so good.

I thank Hunk for trying to help me out. I mean, in the end, it worked out without much intervention on his part, but he still pushed me to follow Lance. I owe him big time. I’ll find a way to make up for this. He deserves it.

**From: Lance**  
**miss me**

I smile, lips hurting a little bit. He’s ridiculous. I tap away at my screen.

**From: Keith**  
**You’ve given me zero time to miss you.**

**From: Lance**  
**awww but you should miss me all the time**

**From: Keith**  
**Nope. Sorry.**

**From: Lance**  
**okay well you still need to visit me**

**From: Lance**  
**i have work tomorrow til closing**

**From: Keith**  
**I have a morning shift, so that works out.**

**From: Lance**  
**sweeeeet**

**From: Lance**  
**bring me foooood**

**From: Keith**  
**No promises.**

**From: Lance**  
**im pretty sure you might be evil**

**From: Keith**  
**Probably.**

**From: Lance**  
**friendship revoked**

I chuckle. I didn’t start this in the first place and he knows it. If anything, I’m the one who has the right to revoke this friendship. Too bad for him I’m not going to anytime soon.

I change into a pair of shorts and gather up my pillow and blankets. Warmth settles over me. Work is gonna feel like forever tomorrow. 

  


* * *

  


I head to the front desk as soon as I get to the observatory. The smell of floor cleaner is back, but the ground isn’t as slippery this time. I’m glad. I’m barely balancing the drink holder in my hands as it is. 

Matt is leaning on the counter, eyes glazed over. The light in them returns once he sees me.

“Keith! Welcome back to our fine establishment. What brings you here?” he asks, attempting to fist bump me. I meet him with my own.

“Lance was being obnoxious about me not visiting him, so here I am,” I say.

He laughs. “Yeah. That sounds like him,” he says. “He should be in the planetarium right now. We have an elementary school group here. Not looking forward to cleaning that shit up.”

I don’t even want to imagine. Sometimes I think I have it bad where I work, but then I remember that we don’t have to deal with food. Thank God. Not to mention what else could be hiding under seats. Nope. Get off that train of thought.

“Alright, I’ll go find him. Thanks.”

I start to make my way to the planetarium before Matt’s voice stops me. “I heard about your romantic tryst at the beach. How’d that go?”

I smirk at him. “What can I say? He’s obsessed with me.”

Matt raises an eyebrow and snorts. He shakes his head and mutters something I don’t catch. It must’ve been about the “obsessed with me” comment. I’m starting to sound like Lance, aren’t I? I guess we hang out too much. Not that I mind, but I’m not really down with sounding like a complete weirdo.

I stand across the doors from the planetarium and I can barely hear Lance’s voice. It’s muffled, but I make out a couple things I heard him say the first time we met. I think he’s talking about newly formed stars. So much force bringing molecules together to create something that wasn’t there before.

I hear his closing lines and the cacophony of little kids coming towards me. They walk in pairs and groups past me, excited about being astronauts when they grow up and how cool star explosions are. I remember being like that when I was little. Hell, I’d be lying if I said I don’t feel like that still. It’s why I come here so often in the first place.

Once the majority of the kids are out, I go to find Lance. He’s gathering a few things by the podium. 

“Hey,” I call, holding up the bag of food in my hand. He lifts his head and grins at me. 

“You are my savior. My one and only. I will follow you to the ends of the Earth if you asked,” he says, mock bowing to me. 

I settle on the floor and let the wall behind me support me. It wasn’t horrible today, but it really was slow. I was looking forward to getting here. Lance is high energy, but I can be at ease with him. 

He takes a seat in front of me and grabs one of the drinks. Before I can stop him, he sips. 

“Blegh. What the hell is this?” he asks, his face contorted.

I snatch it away from him. “It’s mine, first off. Second off it’s just Coke.”

“Coke is the drink of the enemy.”

I hand him the other cup and he gives me a side eye. “It’s Pepsi calm down.”

He takes a sip of the correct cup, slower this time, suspicious. When he confirms it’s the right drink, he gulps it down. 

“Holy shit I needed this,” he says. “I mean, the kids weren’t horrible, but they’re tiring. They wouldn’t stop asking me questions about the same things over and over again. Keep me off school tours please.”

He digs in the bag. 

“Cheeseburger is yours, regular burger is mine,” I say.

He grabs his prize and holds it up above our heads. “All hail the mighty cheeseburger. His sacrifice will be remembered for all time.”

I roll my eyes and get my own burger. I unwrap it and take a huge bite. Jesus Christ I was hungry. I feel saliva drip down my chin. I wipe it away before Lance can see. Good thing he’s still focused on his own burger. He’s munching happily on it moaning every few seconds.

“Stop making that noise,” I say. “Seriously. You’re so fucking weird.”

He pushes my leg away from himself with his foot. “Says the guy with the mullet. I’ll have you know I am plenty normal.”

“Nope.”

“Rude.”

After he finishes he splays himself out on the floor. He closes his eyes and starts to relax. He better not be falling asleep. 

I kick him. “Don’t fall asleep please.”

He groans. “I’m dead. Just give me a second.”

“You can sleep at home.”

He closes his eyes, a grimace adorning his face. “Hunk has his girlfriend over. I’m trying not to kill the mood for him. I’m also not trying to walk in on them.”

“Where was your interest in courtesy two months ago?”

I hold out a hand to him. He turns over and faces his entire body to the floor. 

“Dude. Do you know how gross that floor is?” He doesn’t respond. “Lance. Up.”

He refuses to say a word. “You can come over if you get up.”

He rolls back over, beaming. I knew that’s what he was after. I lift him up and we’re out the planetarium’s doors.

We clean up and make our way to my bike. On the way out, Matt throws a look at Lance. “I want details later,” he says.

A dusting of pink settles on Lance’s cheeks. “How about shut up?”

Matt waves us off and we go. 

Lance wraps his arms around my waist once we’re on the bike and this time he feels extra warm. It’s been a while since he’s had this effect on me. Maybe it has to do with Matt’s comments. 

“Hey,” I start, “What did he mean when he asked for details?”

He gives a weak chuckle. He only does that when he’s upset or nervous. Did he get warmer?

“He’s just fucking around. Let’s go.”

I don’t know why Lance isn’t telling the truth, but I don’t think I need to worry about it. What I need to worry about is these sensations. I thought I got them to stop. Having him this close wasn’t a problem before. I don’t want it to be a problem. I need to relax. Get back to normal. 

Problem is it’s not working.

  


* * *

  


Lance drops his bag and collapses on my couch. “Oh God that feels good.”

I go chill on the couch with him and we don’t say anything to each other. His eyes are closed and his breathing sounds like it’s slowing. I put on my headphones and melt into the sounds of an acoustic guitar being plucked. It’s an upbeat tempo, but it’s calming. 

I watch Lance a little. His muscles have lost all tension and his face looks serene. He wasn’t like that at all earlier. I feel kinda bad. The last few days have been a lot.

He shifts his body to curl up in the corner. He looks so small right now. He’s got this loud personality all the time, so it always shocks me when he’s like this. I don’t know how I’m gonna wake him up. Maybe I just won’t. 

I close my eyes and let the music lull me back into complacency. I didn’t realize how tired I was either. It’s been event after event and I didn’t really get a chance to relax. I can’t say I’ve slept peacefully in months, but it feels like I haven’t slept at all. I can feel myself dozing off. I’d like to stay here, but I’ve gotta move Lance. He’s gonna be uncomfortable if he stays like that. I poke the back of his neck a couple times.

“Lance. Get up. Go to sleep.”

He groans and lies on his back. He rubs his eyes and eventually sits up.

He gets up in a daze and I lead him to my bedroom. Shiro hasn’t been here in awhile, but his bed is made. Lance tosses himself onto it. I would leave the couch to him, but his body is too long. The only time I’m happy that I’m relatively short is when I sleep on the couch.

“Thanks,” he mutters. He’s asleep again.

I almost walk out my door, but I turn back. It might be weird to leave him alone in here. If he wakes up he won’t know where he is. It’d be less of a hassle in the morning if he knows where I am. 

I change out of my clothes and stare at my bed. It’s been awhile. I’ll be okay though. This time I can feel it. If Lance is here, I don’t mind it. I’ll be fine.

I curl up in my bed for the first time in months. I forgot how comfortable it is. It’s way better than the couch, which isn’t meant to be slept on. 

Just like Lance, I’m out in a second.

  


* * *

  


Lance is nowhere near awake when I get up. I guess I’m gonna have to leave him here alone. Ruins the purpose of sleeping in here in the first place. Oh well. Can’t be late to work. Don’t need to give Kon another reason to yell at me. I rummage through the drawers in the kitchen and scribble out a message on a Post-it. 

_Sorry for leaving you here alone. You can stay until you have a ride. Try not to break anything._  
_-Keith_

That should be enough. Honestly, I’d offer food from my fridge, but I’m pretty sure I haven’t gone shopping in the last week. Probably nothing but packets of hot sauce in there. Don’t wanna get his hopes up.

I head out and glance back. I really hope he doesn’t break anything.

  


* * *

  


Kon performed the magical trick of not showing up to work today. I got to do my work in peace. There were less people than usual, too. I swear today was a gift.

I check my phone for texts. I wanted to get shit done as fast as possible so I didn’t have a reason to stay late. Of course I have texts from Lance.

**From: Lance**  
**so when are we doing the thing again**

**From: Lance**  
**and by thing i mean where we have to help you do the impossible**

**From: Lance**  
**and by impossible i mean totally doable cause im the best**

**From: Keith**  
**I don’t have anything on Sunday. Come over then.**

**From: Lance**  
**sweeeeet**

**From: Lance**  
**see you then**

I put away my phone, but there’s another buzz. I look at the screen and it’s still Lance.

**From: Lance**  
**oh and one more thing**

**From: Lance**  
**thanks for letting me sleep at your place**

**From: Lance**  
**i was dead**

**From: Lance**  
**and im pretty sure hunk reaaaally needed the alone time if you get me**

**From: Keith**  
**Alright. Stop. I don’t wanna know.**

**From: Keith**  
**Thanks for not breaking anything.**

**From: Lance**  
**rude**

**From: Keith**  
**Night.**

**From: Lance**  
**night**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hit serious writer's block when I was writing it. Luckily I found it in me to just keep writing it until it was done. Persistence!
> 
> I'm absolutely exhausted because I went to a Renaissance Faire this weekend, but it gave me a ton of inspiration. I don't know how this story and Faire connect, but it did. Thank God.
> 
> I'm excited to write this next chapter because it's gonna be Halloween! I actually keep track of the dates believe it or not. I thought the story would get too confusing in my head otherwise. Gotta create some sort of coherent timeline. Shiro's visit has to be timed correctly after all.
> 
> Thank you for everyone who's reading. I really appreciate every one of you.
> 
> Alright! Chapter 6 is now in progress! See you next time.


	6. Blue Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Song:** _Starlight_ by Muse

* * *

_Little ghosts in the moonlight_  
_Watching the boys transform_  
_They are no longer ghosts_  
_The thumping is too loud for that_

* * *

“I still don’t get why I had to come,” I say. At Hunk’s request, I dragged myself out of my apartment to help them shop for their annual Halloween party. By party, I actually mean us four and maybe Matt. Hunk is carrying a piece of paper with a mile-long shopping list. It’s double-sided. Why is it double-sided.

“Because I need someone to keep Lance in check,” he replies. “I gotta veto stuff from this list and I don’t need him adding to it when I’m not looking.”

Lance whines. “Don’t tell me you’re taking off the giant zombie animatronic.”

“Oh I’m definitely taking off the zombie animatronic.”

“Hunk. Buddy. My best friend in the universe.” Lance sidles up next to him. “We have a mission to complete here. Keith is new and needs to be wowed. What kind of friend would I be if I half-assed this party?”

Hunk doesn’t answer him and instead apologizes to me. “Pidge usually helps out, but you know.” I do know. She’s passed out at home after a group project she had to do for her Graph Theory class. It’s not that the work was hard, but her group was flaky, meaning she did the majority of the work over the course of a week. Even she can’t handle that much.

“It’s fine. I’d rather not set a sleep-deprived Pidge on the world no matter how funny that would be. Especially if it’s him,” I say, gesturing at Lance.

He beams at me. The thing about Hunk is that you can make him happy with the tiniest things. I helped him find a specific cookbook in the store the other day and he looked at me like I presented him with a box of puppies. Even just telling him I made one of the recipes from that book he gave me had the same effect. For a guy who looks like he could crush Lance, Pidge, and me together all at once, he’s just a giant teddy bear.

We start in a Halloween store and Lance immediately makes his way to the animatronic displays. He jumps back-and-forth between each one, probably deciding which one he’s gonna take home even though we all know getting past Hunk is impossible.

I roll my eyes and Hunk and I make our way through the aisles and along the walls to find what we’re looking for. It’s mostly small things: eyeballs, a pint of fake blood, biohazard signs, and other zombie-related decorations. They have a theme every year and Lance would not hear anything but us accepting a zombified version of Pidge’s house.

Lance comes back to use with an armful of boxes as high as he could stack them. He spreads them out on the floor in front of us, proud of his endeavors. Hunk examines them and removes all but two from the pile: a floor animatronic that “crawls” towards you when you pass by, and a semi-realistic zombie you hang from the ceiling.

Lance’s face drops. “Oh come on! How can you not love these?” He points to several dolls with horror-themed faces. “They’re creepy as hell.”

“We’re not doing a doll house this year,” Hunk says.

“They’re undead babies! Close enough!”

“Nope. Put them back.”

He stomps off and puts the rejected boxes back. I pick up the other two and we continue our search. We get a couple packs of cobweb because Lance claims they’re a staple of any Halloween party as well as a box of red string lights. It’s all cheap, so no one protests.

We pass the costume section, but we don’t stop. I actually haven’t figured out what I’m wearing. Lance won’t let me in the house if I’m not in costume. I doubt he has all that much control over that, but I’m not in the mood to make my life harder.

“Are the costumes themed too?” I ask.

Lance scoffs. “Of course. You gotta dress for the occasion.”

Alright. Zombie. That should be easy enough. I should have a shirt I can rip up and no doubt Lance has a whole makeup kit sitting around somewhere. I’m not sure if that idea impresses me or worries me.

The cashier rings us up and the total is way more than I would’ve expected considering the quality of the stuff we got. Lance whips out his debit card and takes the hit to his back account. We head out to Hunk’s car, bags weighing down our arms.

“What happened to the idea of broke college students?” I ask. Lance must be doing some side jobs if he’s willing and able to throw down that much.

Lance smirks. “Halloween is like a dessert: there’s a separate space for it.”

“He has a huge stash in his savings account just for Halloween,” Hunk explains. “He blows it all this month and then saves as much as possible for the rest of the year. He’s dedicated.”

The next stop is the grocery store. Hunk is all over this. We go aisle-by-aisle again and he spends way too much time examining everything he picks up. “I have to get the perfect one,” he says, turning a pie pumpkin in his hands. He also needs the perfect avocados, the perfect tomatoes, and the perfect everything. He may need more regulation than Lance does.

I gave up the cart to Lance a while ago. He’s currently content with pushing off the floor and jumping on the back, letting it carry him down the aisle. Somehow he has enough energy to do it through about half the store. Just watching him is exhausting.

We’re finally out after two hours and I’m one hundred percent dead. I can’t wait to get home. I know I agreed to this, so I can’t complain about the chill day I could’ve had if I had said no. Instead of making me help take everything to Pidge’s, they drop me off at my place. 

“Thanks man. We would’ve been screwed without you,” Hunk says.

“No problem. Anytime.”

He waves me over and whispers in my ear. “Lance has been in a great mood. Thanks.”

I step back. I don’t think I did anything besides apologize. Lance and I hang out like we normally do and there’s not much else. He’s helping me with my music issues, but that’s not something to be happy about. Lance has a weird way of choosing his emotions.

“Uh. You’re welcome?” I say.

He chuckles, going to roll up his windows. He pauses for a second, then yells, “Hope you liked the beach!” I hear him yelp in pain. “Dude, chill. That’s my stirring arm.”

“Oh screw your stirring arm.”

They leave and I’m realizing that this is the second time someone mentioned the beach. Lance is definitely giving people weird information.

I get inside and see the guitar still laying where it’s been for about half a week. I can’t bring myself to move it anywhere else, so I don’t. I’m used to sleeping in my room now just to get away from it. I’d rather be next to my old instruments. At least those don’t make me feel like I wasted Shiro’s money.

I get ready for bed even though I know I won’t fall asleep for a while. I have free time in the morning, so I don’t have to worry about a bedtime. I wanna get comfy while it lasts. I like hanging out with those three at any time of day, but sometimes it feels good to sleep in. Correction: it always feels good to sleep in.

I lay down on top of my blankets and try to adjust so they don’t bunch up in weird ways under my back. I put on my headphones and let the sounds wash over me. 

Then there’s a horrendously loud text message alert in my ears. Apparently I forgot to put my phone on vibrate. I throw them off and almost succeed in launching them off my bed entirely. Fuck that hurts. I need to learn to set it to vibrate permanently.

Surprise, surprise. He’s managed to be loud without being anywhere near me.

**From: Lance**  
**whatre your plans tomorrow**

**From: Keith**  
**Nothing. Why?**

**From: Lance**  
**we should do the guitar stuff**

**From: Keith**  
**I only have time in the morning and a little in the afternoon.**

**From: Lance**  
**that works**

**From: Lance**  
**im a morning person anyways**

Yeah, but I’m not. I thought he would actually back out and leave me to sleep. Leave it to him to be a morning person. Do those even actually exist? The idea of having any energy in the morning is impossible. I already said yes, though. What’s one early morning?

Okay stop with the optimism, Keith. I’m gonna hate this no matter what.

**From: Keith**  
**Alright. I’ll text you when I’m awake.**

**From: Lance**  
**see ya**

I confirm my phone is set to vibrate and go back to listening.

I can’t help but wonder why everyone is bringing up the beach. I don’t think the hermit crab incident was much to mention. Our ocean fight wasn’t weird either. It was all normal.

What if they know? I mean, there’s nothing much to know, but maybe they think I have a thing for Lance. They’re not completely wrong, but I wasn’t planning on doing anything about it. I’m planning on letting it fade out. He’s a good-looking guy, I guess. He’s also been there for me when I needed him, but that’s what a friend does. I’ll get used to having him around and there won’t be feelings anymore. Easy.

I don’t want them to think there’s something more to this. I don’t want them to know anything at all. I may not think my feelings are weird, but that doesn’t mean Lance wouldn’t. He might play it off as a joke, but that doesn’t stop things from changing between us. So this doesn’t mean anything. I’ve gotta push it down now before things get messy.

I turn onto my back again and raise my hands in the hair. When he held my hand, it wasn’t like that. That’s how I know these feelings are fleeting. He was holding me down so I couldn’t fly off into the distorted reality I created. I link my fingers together. Yeah. This doesn’t mean what it usually would.

I close my eyes and lose myself in the music again. I don’t want to think about this anymore. There’s nothing to think about. He can be there for me and it doesn’t have to be like that. I know that. _I know that._

  


* * *

  


I fell asleep earlier than I meant to, so I’m up at the ungodly hour of 10 AM. Under work circumstances, I can deal with it, but this is my day off. Time doesn’t follow the same rules on my day off.

I send a quick text to Lance telling him I’m up. My brain is fritzing out on me and I can barely walk myself to the bathroom. I might as well be crawling. He shows up just as I’m getting out of the shower and I don’t have a chance to get dressed before opening the door. 

“Hey dude. I brought—” 

Lance freezes in the doorway, face blank. I’m still shirtless and wearing a towel around my waist. 

“Get in before my neighbors see me,” I demand. 

He slips in past me and does his best not to make eye or skin contact. I don’t think he had to go that far. I’m dried off for the most part. 

I head into my room to get dressed and hear the squeak of a foam container being opened. The smell of bacon wafts in my direction and I shove my legs into my jeans, almost tripping in the process. 

I rush into the living room, plant myself on the couch, and grab the other box Lance isn’t eating out of. Inside are toast, eggs, and bacon. They’re such ordinary foods, but damn do they smell better than usual. I take a bite and moan. Dramatic, I know. Lance is rubbing off on me.

“Hunk made this, didn’t he?” I ask around my food. 

Lance grunts, content with his own meal. It’s all silence before Lance sighs. I get what he means. Anything and everything Hunk makes is a gift. That dude is seriously too good for this world. Note to self: if I get rich, hire Hunk to be my personal chef.

I finish my own food off and he gives me a look. Time for work.

I drag my feet towards the box that may be my doom. Lance takes his seat next to me and we try the staring thing we did last time. I’m more antsy because I know he’s not setting a timer, but I’ll keep looking as long as I can handle it. He ends up stopping me himself because he’s bored and I’m doing well.

“I thought this would be harder,” I say. Thinking about doing this is harder than doing it I guess. Things have always been that way, but trying to tell my brain that is like trying to comprehend Pidge’s geek babble.

“Means we’re gonna have to move onto the next step,” Lance says.

Pidge’s geek babble may be easier to comprehend. “I dunno. I feel like this is enough for now.” I inch away from the box.

He puts his hands on my shoulders. “I’m not trying to push you that hard, man, but I can’t let you back out when I know you can do it.”

“It’s not that easy,” I say.

“I know.”

“This is fucked.”

“I know.”

“This is so fucked.”

“I know.”

I scoff. “Stop saying ‘I know.’”

He laughs and wraps his arm around me. “How about I say this instead: if you can touch it with your fingertip I won’t ask you to try again for an hour.”

“Really? A whole hour?” I deadpan. 

He shrugs and gestures to the box. I glance at it, but my eyes end up on Lance’s. I want him to tell me I don’t have to do anything, but without words he tells me I can do it like always. The fact that he believes in me more than I believe in me should be surprising, but I think my baseline is pretty low here. If I can fool myself for a second, maybe I can do this for real.

“Look first, then touch.”

I do my ‘in four, out four’ routine and start examining the guitar again. I’m more nervous this time, but I can still do it. It’s not nearly as bad as the first time. I follow the wood grain patterns from end to end. Lance doesn’t say a word, but I see him shift at my side. He’s not going to tell me when to make a move. I have to decide when on my own.

I reach out my hand and hover over the body. My fingers are just ghosting above it, ready to touch down, but I won’t. 

I can’t do this. Oh god I can’t do this. Shiro’s gonna drop out of school for this shit and I can’t believe I fucked up this bad. The idea of doing this to him makes my chest tight. I should’ve been able to handle myself while he was gone. I should’ve figured my shit out.

Why can’t I do it right the first time?

“Keith, can you hear me?” I hear Lance ask. I only know it’s him because his words make sense. The other voices are staticky silence, drowning out every other noise. I shake my head. I might as well not be able to hear him. Fuck. I’m losing it. Please let me do this. Please don’t let me fuck this up.

I feel his hand in mine. Like last time, it’s the only thing I can focus on. Even the guitar in front of my eyes doesn’t feel real. The image seems distorted somehow. 

I want to wrench my hand away, but I also hope he never lets go. I know he’s seen me like this before, but it feels like the first time all over again. At least, I thought so at first, but I’m not hyperventilating and the room isn’t closing in like it usually does. The static is simmering down and I can see straight. At some point I sat back away from the box and for the moment I’m glad. I need a second.

“Can you hear me now?” he asks. This time I nod. He squeezes my hand and removes it, leaving me wanting it back more than anything. I don’t know when this will flare up again. If I can’t have my headphones, I need his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

“Hey,” I whisper. “You wanna know a secret?”

He raises his eyebrows and I cup my around my mouth. I get close to his ear and say, “Saying sorry is more annoying than when you’re being loud as shit when I’m at work.”

He leans backwards, an easygoing grin on his face. “Well, _sorry_.” His face contorts. “Wait. Shit. Sorry. _Goddammit_.”

I laugh and he’s not happy with it. He pushes me over onto the floor, but I can’t stop. He’s stupid. This is all so stupid yet here we are trying to do the impossible. We’re two idiots who don’t do anything other than mess around all day. Somehow that makes me more motivated to do this with him. If anything, it’ll be a funny story someday if it doesn’t go horribly wrong.

“Can we try again?” I ask, laughter subsiding.

“You sure?” 

I position myself over the box. “Positive.”

My fingers are back to hovering over the body and I keep trying to touch down. Lance doesn’t say a word and just watches. This time there’s less pressure from both myself and Lance. Honestly I can tell he’s more worried about me than anything. He probably doesn’t wanna say or do anything wrong in case he sets me off. 

I close my eyes and lean in. If I can’t move my arm, rocking my body might do the trick.

I’m right. I touch it. It’s too forceful. I snatch my hand back and stare. I can’t believe I actually did that. I mean, God I sound weak as shit, but did I really just touch a guitar?

I check with Lance and he’s grinning like an idiot. “You fucking did it.”

If you count a millisecond of contact as some sort of accomplishment, then sure. I did it. I can’t say that to him though. I don’t know if I can ruin this moment.

“Alright, so now that that’s out of the way!” He goes to pull out his notebook. It’s the one he’s been using every time he comes to write his story. “I need my musical magician to help me out here. It’s an emergency.”

“Okay. What do you need?”

He rubs the back of his neck and looks down. “I may or may not need a love song.”

“Oh cool. What kind?”

He looks at me like I’m an alien. “You’re just gonna pass by that like I didn’t ask you for something kinda weird?”

I smirk. “What? Too gay for you?”

He places his hand on his chest and gasps. “I’ll have you know I am half gay,” he declares. “But what I actually meant was that you have to know what kind of love song I’m looking for and that requires getting all feelsy up in here.”

I roll my eyes. Of course he’s worried about that. I’ve noticed Lance can only talk about the emotional stuff when he’s feeling guilty about something he said or did to me, even when it wasn’t really his fault. I’m no better, I guess. I tell him whenever I feel like blowing up.

This is different, though. He doesn’t have anything to feel guilty for (yet), so this is something he needs to talk about that isn’t from the guilty part of himself but instead the part of himself that still thinks cooties are a thing. God he’s such a little kid.

“Just tell me what you need and I’ll find it.”

“Alright, alright.”

We settle in our usual spots in my room and he explains. He hasn’t tried to get the characters together yet, but they’ve met, and there needs to be a vibe between them. It isn’t that intense and it’s not super obvious either, but they feel something for each other that’s more than a friendship. They don’t really know what’s going on themselves. All they know is that they want to be with each other more than they do with other people.

“Alright. Let’s do this.” I press play on the first song.

Every hour we take a break and then I try to touch the guitar again. It’s hit or miss, but I don’t freak out as much. Every time I do touch it my fingers feel like there’s some kind of residue on them that I can’t see. I know it shouldn’t feel this way, but there’s nothing I can do for now.

I check my phone clock and it’s getting close to my shift. “Alright, let’s go through these last few songs and then call it. I gotta get to work.”

“Here goes!”

We don’t find it. Granted, last time it took us about two weeks, so I’m not all that surprised. He leaves, a bit defeated, but also enthusiastic. “You seriously did it,” he mumbles.

I drop him off at his apartment and he says goodbye by pumping his fist into the air. 

At work when I clock in, I laugh under my breath at the stupidity that is our situation and our relationship. I’m not sure how Lance thinks we’re gonna do this, but I’m hoping he’s right. It’d be nice to have good news for a change.

  


* * *

  


“What the—”

This can’t be Pidge’s house. I must be one over. I can’t see the number on the place ‘cause there’s several people hanging out in front of where it would be, but there’s no doubt. This is her house. Same white walls, same clay roof, and same size compared to the houses around it.

I pass by loads of people hanging out in her front lawn, drinking and cackling over jokes I’m sure aren’t that funny when you’re sober. I get into her house and it’s packed. I push my way through the sea and somehow find refuge in the kitchen. There are a couple people in here, but it looks like there’s no food or alcohol to grab so there’s no reason for people to linger. 

I’m safe, but I don’t know for how long. I was promised a semi-quiet night with the trio. I expected food, movies, and endless cracks at Lance’s personality. So much for that. 

I prepare myself before setting out again. I have to find at least one of them if they’re even here. I wouldn’t be surprised if they have no idea what’s going on either. Hell, maybe Matt threw this party and they’re all hiding in Pidge’s room.

Oh. Idea.

I turn the corner and recognize the hallway Pidge told me about the first time I was here. I’m in luck. I head upstairs, trying not to jostle anyone. Too many of them are holding their cups over the banister above people I doubt want to get beer in their hair. I don’t wanna be in the middle of that fight. 

I’m finally here, but I just realized I have no idea which room is Pidge’s. I haven’t been to a party in a while, but I’m sure there’s stuff going on in at least two or three of these rooms, and people forget to lock doors when they’re wasted. I have to open as many as it takes if I want any chance of finding it, though. Please let the disgusting levels stay low.

I pull open the first door on the left and it’s a closet. You’d think someone would be having their Seven Minutes in Heaven. There goes that cliche. 

I check the closest door to the right and it’s open, but when I look inside it’s not Pidge’s room and it’s definitely not occupied by anyone I know. Whoever they are, they’re in the middle of getting into it. The guy stares at me dead in the eyes, then he’s back to focusing on his girl. I haven’t even shut the door yet, guys.

Please, please, _please_ let the next one be Pidge’s.

I open the second-to-last door in the hallway and find an even techier haven than the living room. There’s scrap metal and wires piled high threatening to take up at least half the height of the walls. There’s a couple of gadgets I don’t even know how to name, but one of them looks like a different version of the headphones Pidge gave me. Oh yeah. This has gotta be it.

I spy a desk with four monitors—two on the desk and two on the wall above—which are lit up. They’re partially blocked by the figure in the chair. It swivels around.

“Nope. Get the fuck—”

Pidge’s mouth turns into a small “o” once she realizes it’s me. She grins sheepishly, something I don’t think I’ve ever seen her do or will see her do ever again. 

“So there’s a possibility my place is absolute chaos right now,” she says.

“You think?!” It’s only been a couple days and somehow no one thought to tell me that plans were changing. Could’ve at least sent me a text ahead of time so I could’ve mentally prepared myself for this impossibly filled house.

She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Blame it on Lance.”

She tells me they usually don’t invite people over like this, but Lance was all gung-ho about this being my first Halloween with them. He didn’t ask before inviting everyone possible, instead opting to send a text around 7 saying he might be bringing a few more guests. He wouldn’t answer after that. She got a bad feeling and scrambled to her room before anyone could show up. Hunk is downstairs. He knows he needs to watch over Lance, as usual.

I groan. “It’s gonna be impossible to find them.”

“Well, if you count a game of Where’s Waldo as impossible, then sure.” She taps a couple buttons on her computer and the screens switch to four different camera angles set up around the house. “I had these rigged when I was trying to catch Matt stealing some of my materials. We should be able to find them somewhere.”

The cameras are high quality, but with everyone so squished together it’s hard to tell who’s who. I see heads bobbing to music or moving within the crowd, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to spot Lance who’s the true target. We find Hunk, but skip over it because Lance isn’t anywhere to be found. She switches to a couple different angles and then stops.

“Got him.”

Lance is up against a wall in the entryway talking to somebody neither of us know. The only way we found him is because we can see his face straight on. I passed him earlier and didn’t even see him.

“Alright, I’m gonna go grab him,” I say. “He’s got shit to answer for.”

I swing her door open and as soon as it closes I hear a click. I’m surprised she didn’t do it earlier.

I’m doing my same act of squeezing past drunk 20-year-olds until I stumble into the entryway. For once I can breathe a bit, but just barely. It’s so humid that it makes it hard to take a good breath. This is why I hate these things. You can never take enough showers afterwards.

I spot him standing with the same person from earlier and grimace. I march towards him and he waves. He only stops when he sees my face. I would’ve preferred he didn’t see his death coming, but it doesn’t matter when no one can stop it.

“Hey,” he says, hesitant. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but I need to talk to this idiot,” I growl at who I now realize is a girl. I feel kinda bad. I know she’s not the problem, but I’m not in the mood to play nice. 

I grab his arm and he snatches it back.

“No way. I’m having a lovely conversation with this beautiful lady, umm…” he pauses. “What’s your name again?”

She yells something and Lance calls for her to say it again. She leans in closer and it makes my stomach feels hot. I grab his wrist this time which makes for an easier hold. He’s a little slippery with sweat, but I manage to keep him in tow.

The cool air hits me and I’m thankful. I thought I was gonna die in there. We’re almost to the sidewalk before I hear someone call my name. I turn to see some frat-looking dude chilling in a cheap lawn chair. He’s wearing a wide smile. I don’t think I know him, but there’s something sorta familiar.

I let Lance go and he rubs his wrist, but he doesn’t walk away. I’m sure he’s just as curious as I am about whoever this is walking towards us.

“How’ve you been, man?” he asks.

“Good?” I furrow my eyebrows. Okay, there’s definitely something familiar about him.

He leans in and whispers in my ear. “Caught another one, huh?”

Oh shit. Goddammit. He’s one of the guys that screwed me then said being gay wasn’t for him. This guy lasted the longest, but only ‘cause he liked toying with me. I try to block them out afterwards and I’m successful. They don’t usually try to talk to me again which makes it easier.

I fiddle with my fingers and I can feel Lance staring. 

“It’s not like that,” I respond.

“I’m sure it’s not.” He winks. “Let me know if it is ‘like that’ so we can share.”

My eyes widen. I wish I had stopped seeing him back then the minute it started, but I thought there was something there like the idiot I was. Didn’t take me long before I realized what it actually was. After then I learned to keep my feelings out of it. Doesn’t mean my hands aren’t shaking. I don’t know if it’s anger or residual feelings, but I hate it.

“I’ve gotta go,” I mumble.

“Alright. See ya around.” He waves without a care in the world and rejoins his friends. He makes some joke I can’t hear and they’re in an uproar. I think they’re staring at me.

I remember why I’m out here and focus on Lance who’s tilting his head. I ignore it and start walking down the block. It’s only when I hit the pavement that I hear his footsteps behind me. We go until we end up at an empty park, the voices of children long gone after the sun ducked under the horizon.

“What the hell, dude,” he whines.

“That’s my line,” I say, gritting my teeth. “When did this whole thing become… _this_?”

“I dunno. Jus’ thought it would be cool,” he slurs. Oh my God. He’s plastered. I don’t want to deal with this party and I definitely don’t want to deal with a drunk Lance. He’s probably in tip-top obnoxious form. 

I cover my eyes with my hand. “Why do I expect anything less than insane from you?”

I wait for an answer, but there isn’t one. I uncover my face and he looks like I just shotgunned him in the stomach. 

“You don’t like it?” His voice is quieter than I’ve ever heard it. It’s not a whisper, but just above that.

“I just...wasn’t expecting it.” How unfair is it that he’s gonna get away with this. If he was sober I would lay into him, but looking at him like this, I can’t do it. 

He nods. Now that I’m paying attention, he doesn’t look so good.

“Lance are you—” I don’t get to finish before he races to the bushes and throws up everything in his system. I hate the smell, but I come up behind him and rub his back. He lurches one more time before he’s just spitting the extra bits out. I try not to look, but it doesn’t matter since I’m already starting to feel sick too.

He straightens himself out, rubbing his lips to get rid of the saliva glistening there. His eyes look glazed-over under the glow of the lampposts. The zombie costume definitely looks more realistic now.

“Come on,” I say and lead him to the slides. There are two side-by-side and I set him down in one while I take the other. He looks like his head is spinning. I grab his shoulder and steady him as best I can. After a while, he doesn’t look as dizzy.

“Who was the guy?” he asks, breaking the tension of our silence but adding the tension of a loaded question.

“Just someone I knew.”

“For ‘just someone’ you guys seemed close.”

I fiddle with my fingers again. This shouldn’t be embarrassing, but it is. Somehow I don’t want to let Lance know about what happened between me and the guys I was with. I don’t want him to think I’m this pathetic guy who can’t get along in life without sleeping with someone else. I don’t want him to think that that’s what I want from him.

Lance waves his hand in front of my face. “Hello? Earth to Keith. Your lack of a response is concerning. Do you need assistance?”

I sigh. “We’re not close.”

“Ohhh. So he’s from your past.” He leans in, invading my space like he always does when he’s needling me. “Tell me.”

“Lance,” I plead.

“Who is he?” His eyes are so much clearer than they were a few minutes ago. If I didn’t know any better, I would say he looks sober. Even so, his usual bright blues now match the night sky. It’s unsettling.

“Can we just skip that part?”

“Just a little hint?”

“Dude.”

“I’ll die of curiosity! Is that what you want? Do you want me to die?”

“If you die you’ll stop asking.

Lance pouts, and then his face lights up. “Okay, but you gotta let me do something in exchange.”

“Oh Jesus. What?”

“Let me play with your hair.”

I search his face for any sign that he’s joking, any sign that he’s about to take it back and make fun of the look on my face. I wouldn’t blame him, because my eyes are wide enough to the point that they’re starting to hurt. “Why do you wanna play with my hair?”

“Why wouldn’t I want to play with your hair? It looks fluffy and I’ve always wanted to braid it or something. Let me. Please?”

I could say no and this would be the end of it. I could walk us back to the party and forget this ever happened, but I feel a pull begging me to stay. I sit on the ground and nestle myself between the calves of his legs. I let him do his work and it’s perfection.

I never realize how much I’m craving touch until someone is touching me. He plays with the ends at first which gives me little tingles, but then he moves to combing his hands through it which is so much more. It’s like he’s sending sparks to all of my nerve endings. I’m waiting for him to hit a snarl and tug too hard, but that doesn’t happen. He’s careful to untangle without pain. All I feel is him gently braiding my hair. I close my eyes and let it happen. Right now, I don’t care what this means. It feels good.

“I learned how to braid from my sister,” Lance says, continuing to work. “When I was little I was always impressed with how pretty her hair looked when she did it, so I asked her to teach me. I was horrible at it and sometimes I tugged way too hard, but she never complained. She just kept teaching me until I got it.”

“You miss them, huh,” I state.

“More than anything.”

I get it and I don’t at the same time. I didn’t have my biological parents for all that long and after that I didn’t get to keep my adoptive ones. Even so, there’s something about losing the contact that messes with my head sometimes. You keep hoping someone will reach out and hug you, but you don’t ask, because that’s asking too much. You just stay quiet and hope someone will offer you something, no matter what it is.

“You ever just want someone to touch you?” I ask.

He stops braiding. “Is this about to be some sorta sex talk ‘cause I don’t really know if I’m down for this right now.”

I swat his leg. “No. Not like that. Like, you know when you’ve gone so long without a hug that you want any kind of human contact you can get? Even if it’s just for a second?”

“Yeah, I do.” His voice is barely above a whisper now and it’s bittersweet. I’m sure he’s slipping into a memory just like I am.

“That’s why I know that guy.” I know I don’t want to tell him, but he always has this habit of making me feel like I could tell him that I killed a guy and he would just look up the best place to hide the body. I’m terrified that he’ll think I’m gross, but maybe he won’t. That’s all I need with him: maybes.

“I met him back when I actually chose to go to parties.” I start. “It wasn’t really a secret that I’m gay so sometimes it doesn’t go over well.”

Lance starts to protest but I shush him. “He never hit me or anything. We just slept together.” I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. Most likely a good sign. “He was the first one and we kept meeting up. We kept it a secret and we didn’t go out together, but I couldn’t help coming back to him. I thought that the more time we spent together, the bigger the chance that we would actually get together. I was a dumb high school kid back then.

“One day he asked to meet up at his place and it felt normal. Afterwards, though, he told me he wasn’t into it anymore.” I can still see the face he made. He smirked like it was a joke and I was the only one who wasn’t in on it. “The last thing he asked me was, ‘You’re not gonna tell anyone are you?’ I told him I wouldn’t and that was the end of it. After that I didn’t stick with anyone for long and I didn’t have any expectations. It’s just not the kind of thing I like to talk about. It’s not really necessary.”

The crickets chirp giving an eerie feel to the park that feels like its own universe. Lance keeps braiding until I feel him finishing up at the tip. He pulls me up under my armpits and hops up to look me over. 

“You look pretty, too.”

It takes everything in me not to sob right there. I have to move. If I don’t move I’ll think and if I think I don’t know how I’m gonna keep myself from imploding. It takes him four words to tell me everything that I couldn’t say in a thousand. He’s unreal.

I race off and I hear him tailing me. “Aww. Is Keithy boy weak to compliments?”

“Shut up,” I growl under my breath.

He continues taunting me all the way back. “Never knew we had this much of a softie on our hands. Ladies and gentlemen, this man is—”

I don’t hear anything else because once the door opens, the roar of the party is insane. I can feel the blood pumping in my eardrums and I have to get away. I head upstairs to where Pidge is holed up. I text her and she opens up the door, pulling us in like we’re co-conspirators in a federal crime.

“So, Lance,” she says. “Mind explaining to me what you did wrong here?”

He’s looking everywhere but at Pidge, and the sweat on his forehead isn’t helping.

“ _Lance_. I don’t hear an answer.”

He throws his arms in front of himself, scooting away from Pidge until he bumps into her bed frame. “I’m sorry please don’t kill me I won’t do it again it was a stupid idea.”

She nods, hands positioned triumphantly on her hips.

There’s an alarm noise that comes from the computer. It’s a chat box and I can see the sender is Hunk. Pidge opens the door and Hunk comes in carrying several plates of food, bottles of soda, and empty cups.

“Oh wait, one more thing,” Pidge says. She leans over her desk where she has a microphone set up. She presses a button and speaks into it.

“As I’m sure many of you know, underage drinking is a crime and everyone here is an accomplice. If you don’t want me calling the cops, get out.”

We watch the screen as the entirety of the house is emptied. All that’s left is trash everywhere, but at least everyone is gone. Even those on the lawn are clearing out. Good job, Pidge.

“Lance, you’re cleaning that up tomorrow,” she says.

He groans but doesn’t argue. I’ll think about helping him. Maybe.

We spend the rest of the night doing what we planned to do in the first place: eat, watch movies, and talk over said movies. I try to keep up with the plot, but I can barely hear anything the characters are saying. I’m just photographing the moment in my mind. The person front-and-center is Lance where he always is. Pidge and Hunk are here, and they’re definitely a major part, but the focus is all on him. It’s always been on him.

_You look pretty, too._

God, so does he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually hate huge parties, but now I really want to go to one for Halloween. Dilemmas to solve for another day. 
> 
> Well, Keith is making progress! He's still got time, but it's already November and winter break starts two weeks into December. That's six weeks for him to get over this phobia. No doubt there's going to be a lot more of pushy/supportive Lance going on in the meantime.
> 
> I can't believe I've finished six chapters already. I never work on writing projects for very long and give up before they take on a life of their own, but I'm proud I've kept going with this. Personally I love this ship and being able to write a romance for them makes me happy. I definitely want to see this to the end whenever that will be.
> 
> Anyways! Enough chit-chat. Chapter 7 is coming soon! Thanks for reading!


	7. Holding Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Song:** _Crush_ by David Archuleta  
>  **Link to AMV That Inspired This Chapter:** https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=48Qz3NJRrU4

* * *

_He moves a mile a minute_  
_You a centimeter per second_  
_The curse you bear_  
_Is not his burden_

* * *

Fact #1: Liking Lance isn’t gonna go away.

Fact #2: I’m not gonna do anything about it ‘cause I can’t fuck this up.

Fact #3: He’s way too beautiful when he writes.

Despite not having his song, he makes a point to keep writing. Still, he’s only able to jot down a note or two every once in a while. There’s no sign of the Lance I saw when we found the first song. Instead he works with a frown I have a hard time fixing. I wish I could find the song faster. I wish I knew all the songs in the world so I could help him instantly.

He huffs, signalling break time. Well, his break time.

We haven’t gone further than touching and it’s starting to piss me off. I knew this was gonna be impossible, but I didn’t want to be right. Lance keeps repeating that I can take things at my own pace. I would believe in that advice if my pace wasn’t equivalent to the kid in P.E. who convinced his teacher he shouldn’t run.

“I’ve got you,” he assures me. Every time he says it, two things pop up in my head: 1) I feel guilty that I’m not getting anywhere and 2) our hands are centimeters apart. If I moved just moved my pinky over a bit, maybe he would hold my hand again. I know it wouldn’t be anything more to him than a form of protection for me, but that would be enough.

I’m able to run my hands along the guitar for long periods of time, but I still have to avoid the strings. I know how beautifully devastating they’ll sound and I don’t think I can handle that yet.

We give up when it’s clear I’m not making any progress today and head back to song work. It only takes five minutes before Lance gets grabby and steals my phone. I don’t make much of an effort to get it back. As opposed to some people, I don’t leave all my secrets there. Besides, I doubt there’d be much that Lance doesn’t already know.

He’s scrolling through my Spotify instead of my music library. We haven’t been using it ‘cause I didn’t think we needed to venture out of my usual preferred genres, but apparently he doesn’t agree. I flop over onto my stomach and pull myself to the edge of the bed, making sure not to get too close to his face. He types the word “crush” into the search bar and a billion results show up.

“I thought you said they don’t know how they feel yet,” I say, partially asking.

“They don’t, but this is taking forever and I give up,” he mumbles.

He plays the first song and I recognize it from my middle school days.

 _Nothing compares to a quiet evening alone_  
_Just the one two of us is counting on_  
_That never happens, I guess I’m dreaming again_

“Hey, emo boy,” he starts, amusement rolling off his tongue.

“Stop.”

“But they’re the girl equivalent of Panic! at the Disco! They’re your people!”

“Neither of those things are true.”

“You know you wanna sing along.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

I try to grab the phone back and he pushes his palm into my face. “Bup, bup, bup, bup, bup. I am the DJ now.”

He taps on the second-most relevant song from the search and I watch as his back straightens and his ears seem to perk up. “Oh hey. I know this one.”

We listen for a while and it’s more pop-y than I’m used to. It’s not bad though. The singer’s voice is smooth and he makes the words sound personal. Sometimes the words are more important than the music itself. This is Exhibit A.

 _Why do I keep running from the truth?_  
_All I ever think about is you_  
_You’ve got me hypnotized, so mesmerized_

Of all the songs in the world I have to listen to, I wouldn’t pick this one. It’s getting too accurate. I’m thankful he’s not looking at me ‘cause I’m sure I’m giving myself away.

“This is it. This has gotta be it,” he says, his eyes regaining that spark that only shows up when his imagination is running in full force. That’s the only reason I haven’t smacked the phone away from him.

 _Do you catch a breath when I look at you?_  
_Are you holding back like the way you do?_  
_‘Cause I’m trying and trying to walk away_  
_But I know this crush ain’t going away-ay-ay-ay-ayy_

His face is glowing and he looks more relaxed than ever. He’s letting the phone rest on the floor while he closes his eyes, taking it all in. My stomach flips. This is simultaneously everything I’ve wanted and everything I want to avoid. Well, excluding the giant box of guitar, but I don’t think these situations are comparable.

He nods once. “I am the literal best.”

“You _literally_ wrote the word ‘crush’ and found a song that describes what it’s like to have a crush. I don’t think that makes you ‘the literal best.’” I put air quotes around the last three words.

“Face it. I’m the best,” he says, placing a fist over his heart as if pledging allegiance to his efforts. “I have officially superseded your role as DJ and you have to give me the Ultimate DJ Crown.” He faces me and reaches his arms out, his hands grabbing in the air like a kid demanding their toy. My lip quirks up before I can stop them.

“I’m not giving you my crown.”

“Them’s the rules.”

“I don’t think the Ultimate DJ of my phone qualifies as anything more than a bullshit title.”

He takes a sharp intake of breath. “You take that back.”

“Nope. You can keep it.”

“Keith. Buddy. Take it back.”

“Oh my god.”

“Give me the crown and we can forget the whole thing.”

“Why are you like this?”

“This is serious.” His face turns grave to make sure I understand. “How can the citizens go on without the security of having their one true ruler? Chaos will reign. The sky will rain blood. Women will weep and children will—”

I pluck an imaginary crown off of my head and place it on top of his. I follow it up with a bow. Well, as well as you can when you’re hovering off the edge of a bed. “Your Majesty.”

When he smiles like that, his eyes glinting from some light source I swear comes from himself and nowhere else, it makes these stupid exchanges worth every second.

“Alright, so we’re going with,” he opens my phones again and finds the title, “ _Crush_ by David Archuleta. We have the beginnings of a romantic soundtrack here. Let no one say I’m not capable of greatness.”

I stand up and stretch, joints popping. “Well, are you capable of ordering food ‘cause one of your citizens is in the beginnings of starvation.”

“As you wish, my loyal subject.”

  


* * *

  


The visits at work are less frequent, but Lance still shows up often enough. He typically spends his time figuring out how best to drive me insane, but sometimes he studies or writes something down for his book while lounging in one of the armchairs around the store.

I’m exhausted, but I still agreed to meet at his place after work for the first time. He claims it’s gonna be a break from all the music issues. Hopefully I can get away with letting him talk without me having to put a word in. I don’t think I have enough energy to do more than nod along.

I’m downstairs to clock out and I find Lance leaning up against the wall close to the door of the back room. It’s the same posture he had when he talked to that girl on Halloween. Instead of her, Nyma is standing opposite him, giggling into her hand. He brightens at that and his gesturing becomes more exaggerated.

He’s not mine. He’s never going to be mine. Hell, I don’t think possessiveness is even my thing. Yet, here I am directing every ounce of strength in my body towards the back room and not towards them. I can say objectively that Nyma is gorgeous in the way that keeps her on your mind for days. She pisses me off ‘cause I have to cover for her all the time, but I’ll give her that much. I’m also not surprised she’s flirting with him. It’s not that she’s the type to sleep around, but more like it’s in her nature to flirt.

They’re finally out of sight and I take deep breaths. I thought acknowledging this whole Lance thing would make things easier on me. Instead, I’m stuck wanting. When he sits too close to me, I wanna entangle our fingers together and pull him close so I can lean against him. When an eyelash is stuck to his cheek, I wanna brush it away and keep my hand there even after the lash is gone.

They’re still talking away when I reemerge and Lance’s eyes look like they’ve found something rare and beautiful. She swats him lightly on the arm and that makes the look all the more intense. I walk up behind her and make sure to smile. I can’t let this get to me anymore today. I think I’ve lost the energy to even nod along.

“Hey, Nyma,” I say.

She turns and smiles back at me. “Hey, Keith. I was just talking to your friend.”

Lance blushes at that and rubs the back of his neck. He keeps his head up, pretending he’s calm and collected. She doesn’t know how nervous he is. I wish I didn’t either.

She makes her leave and waves goodbye to Lance. “Text me.”

Super.

“Let’s go.” I can’t look at him anymore. I need to cool off. It feels like a thousand degrees even with the AC on full blast. Have him put his arms around me on the bike? Doesn’t phase me at all anymore. Show me someone else that makes him nervous in a good way? I crumble.

He runs to catch up with me and rambles off about her.

“Man, I thought she was cute, but I didn’t think she’d ever give me the time of day,” he brags. “Did you see her laughing at my jokes? She wasn’t pitying me. She actually likes my jokes _and_ she gave me her number. Am I the luckiest or what?”

“Yep. The luckiest.” I’m trying to tune him out, but as usual it’s not working.

“Not going to respond with ‘or what?’ I thought you’d say ‘or what.’”

“What?”

“I said, “Am I the luckiest or what?’ I thought you’d say ‘or what.’”

“Oh. Well, sorry to disappoint.”

He frowns, but continues on the topic. I don’t wanna say another word to him and it helps that on my bike I won’t have to. I know the way to his house so he doesn’t need to give me directions either. Doesn’t stop him from trying to talk about her over the noise of the wind and traffic.

Nyma Nyma Nyma.

I don’t think I’ve ever hated a name more.

  


* * *

  


I wasn’t expecting Lance and Hunk’s apartment to be much bigger than mine, but they’re able to pay for two bedrooms instead of just the one. Even though Hunk is working, his parents don’t believe in the idea of letting their “baby boy” go without a little extra. That little extra is paying for a little extra room.

Lance’s room is about the same size as mine, but he’s able to fit a double-sized bed instead of a single because of the lack of a second bed. I’m starting to realize his favorite color has to be blue since his comforter, sheets, and the majority of his closet altogether comprise every variant of the color.

Unlike me, Lance knows how to keep his room clean, which is shocking to say the least. Although, now that I’m considering how much I know about his skin routine, I shouldn’t be surprised. Anything less than perfect isn’t enough for him.

When I first walked through the door, everything seemed ordinary. Sure, there’s a Cuban flag hanging over his bed, but there’s nothing else that’s telling of who Lance is. That is until I turn around and see where his passions lie.

On the wall above his desk are dozens of photos. Some are framed, but the majority are taped up just as they are. I recognize Hunk and Pidge in some of them in addition to Lance, but there are so many people I’ve never seen before.

The one I can’t take my eyes off of is of six people squishing into the parameters of the picture. In the background is a beach of the clearest blue ocean I’ve ever seen. I always thought they photoshopped beaches on postcards and such for tourist purposes, but this doesn’t look altered. This is real. The sand is white, made brighter by the contrast of the ocean. Two of the six are trying to hold their hair back while the other four let the wind carry the strands wherever it pleases.

The two in the middle are the oldest, but their smiles disguise their age, making it all too possible they’re older than they look. The woman has skin a few shades darker than Lance’s own, and the man has lighter skin and those unmistakable blue eyes.

The other four, Lance and his siblings presumably, are a mess of dripping sea water and clinging sand. I spot Lance immediately. He’s got more baby fat around his face, but his “I know you want to be me” swagger gives him away. A younger boy stands to his right, tugging at Lance’s board shorts and smiling softly up at him. The older boy on the left is attempting to act mature, but the older girl has him wrapped up in one arm while she pokes his cheek with her other hand.

I wonder how long it took them to take the photo. They all look like standing still is a foreign concept never before seen in Cuba. No doubt they were ready to dive into the sea again the second it was over. I can’t help but laugh imagining them whooping and rushing to greet the shore just as it comes to meet them.

“So, which one’s your type?”

I jump at Lance’s proximity and gape at him. “What?”

He points to the older siblings. “Veronica is cute, but she’s a raging bull if you piss her off. Then Marco looks and acts like a hot shot, but really he’s a super nerd who likes to get in arguments about whether or not the Marvel movies suck for letting Thor’s Hammer strike Captain America’s shield.” He moves his finger to the younger brother. “If you have a thing for Luis, though, I’m gonna need to ask you to leave.”

“I’m not picking which of your siblings I would hit on.”

He shrugs and goes to collapse on his bed. He ends up on his back. “Fair. After all, you have the best sibling right here.”

I don’t know. I think being around a McClain sibling that doesn’t make me physically sick just being near them would probably beat this.

“Yeah, yeah.”

I hear Lance’s phone buzz and he holds it over his face and unlocks it. His face straightens out except for his eyebrows which furrow.

“That Nyma?” I ask. I don’t have to ask because I know, but I do anyways.

“Yep.” He pops the “p” at the end. He doesn’t move to reply and I can see the gears turning in his head.

“Well?”

“ _Well_ , what am I supposed to say?” He tosses his phone towards his pillow and puts his face in his hands. “I mean, she’s super cute and I didn’t actually think she’d give me the time of day.” I nod. “Not to mention I’m a complete nutcase and I’d probably say something weird like, ‘did you know the oldest condoms on Earth were made from animal and fish intestines?’”

“Okay, wait. Why do you know that?”

He throws his arms behind himself, splaying out as far as his limbs can go. “Because I’m a freak! There’s no way this would ever go well. I shouldn’t even respond.” He pauses. “Do you think I should ask her out?”

Every part of me is screaming to say no, but it won’t come out. I shouldn’t be giving him advice on who to date when I’m 100% the most biased person on the planet. Sure, Nyma isn’t my favorite human being, but I don’t want Lance feeling like he’s not good enough for someone. He’s more than enough for anyone. It’ll be easier if I just…

“Yeah, sure. Why not?”

“Are you sure?” He’s still serious.

“Just text her and ask her out to dinner.”

I think his face falls for a second, but I must be wrong because he’s in excited puppy mode in no time. “I’m gonna call. Do you mind?”

“Go ahead.”

He goes to click the “call” button and hesitates. He looks to me and I don’t know what he wants me to say, so I just nod. That seems to do the trick because he taps it. Even without being on speaker, I can hear it ring once. Twice. Three times.

_“Hello?”_

Lance looks at me, eyes wide in panic. I make a shooing motion to tell him to keep going.

“Hey, Nyma. It’s that cute guy from the bookstore.”

She giggles. _“Oh I remember. Lance, right?”_

He smirks. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was used to this. Maybe Lance over the phone is a lot less nervous ‘cause no one can see him. “Yes, indeed. I was wondering if you’d let me take you out this weekend. Maybe dinner? A movie?”

_“Hmm. How about both?”_

“Both is good.”

 _“Alright,”_ she says, her voice lower than before. _“Text me the details then. I’ll see you soon.”_

“Will do.”

When he hangs up he pumps his fists into the air and jumps around the room.

“I did it! Dude, I actually asked her out.”

“You did.” I try to sound congratulatory, but I don’t think it’s convincing. Hopefully I can play it off as being the usual aloof me or something. It’s not hard to channel my former emo boy when I need to.

“Oh crap. I need to figure out where we’re going.” He runs to his desk, grabs his laptop, and returns to his spot. He pats the space next to him. “I will buy you every meal from now on if you help me with this.”

“That better be a promise.”

I mean, it’s not like I’m getting a date with the person I like anytime soon. I’ll need food to fill the void.

  


* * *

  


**Group Chat: Keith, Lance, Pidge, Hunk**

**Group Name Changed to “call me lover boy lance”**

**From: Lance**  
**so i got huge news here**

 **From: Lance**  
**are you ready**

I wait until I see him in the middle of typing and jump in.

 **From: Keith**  
**Lance got a date with Nyma from work.**

 **From: Lance**  
**dude not cool**

 **From: Lance**  
**you just stole my thunder**

 **From: Pidge**  
**So how much did you pay her**

 **From: Lance**  
**you wound me my dear pigeon**

 **From: Lance**  
**ill have you know she approached me**

 **From: Pidge**  
**Keith**

 **From: Keith**  
**He basically stalked her throughout the store begging her to go out with him.**

 **From: Hunk**  
**buddy, what’d i say about that?**

 **From: Lance**  
**ET TU HUNKY**

 **From: Pidge**  
**Try not to puke and things should be fine (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑**

 **From: Hunk**  
**oh and don’t tell her that thing about the intestine condoms. that’s just weird, dude.**

 **From: Keith**  
**Okay, so I wasn’t hallucinating when he said that. Why does he know that?**

 **From: Pidge**  
**There are only so many lonely nights you can spend in your room before you get tired of ol’ lefty**

I have to keep myself from choking on my spit after inhaling at the wrong moment. Under normal circumstances, I’d just keep poking at Lance, but these aren’t normal circumstances. Just the thought of him running his fingers over himself is giving me chills. I can imagine him slip a hand in and…

Keith. Chill. Please.

 **From: Lance**  
**PIDGE**

 **From: Lance**  
**WTF**

 **From: Pidge**  
**My goal in life is to make you uncomfortable at all times**

 **From: Lance**  
**WELL YOURE GETTING THERE**

 **From: Lance**  
**here i was giving good news and youve soiled it**

 **From: Lance**  
**SOILED IT**

 **From: Lance**  
**SOILED IT**

 **From: Pidge**  
**Cool it Spongebob**

 **From: Lance**  
**ive spread the news**

 **From: Lance**  
**and im met only with opposition and scorn**

 **From: Pidge**  
**Cool it Squidward**

 **From: Hunk**  
**aww. well i’m proud of you!**

 **From: Pidge**  
**Save that until after the date**

I have some semblance of composure now, so I get back in.

 **From: Keith**  
**$10 he talks about the condoms in the first 10 minutes.**

 **From: Pidge**  
**Make it $20 and I say first 5**

 **From: Hunk**  
**i bet 10 minutes too.**

 **From: Lance**  
**i hate all of you**

I quit responding to the group altogether and pace around my living room. So this is what happens when you acknowledge your feelings. Instead of any sort of calm, I have this roiling feeling in my gut that’s telling me the only way to get rid of it is to punch walls. I wanna scream. Why the fuck would I tell him to go out with her?

I know why, but I hate myself for it. I could’ve just told him what I actually think of her. I could’ve told him that it’s not him who’s not good enough for her, but the other way around times a billion.

But no. I’m too concerned with making him feel like he deserves to go on a date with a pretty girl so I push him towards said pretty girl. God dammit. This is why I don’t do this. This is why I stopped letting myself have feelings for guys. No doubt something is gonna happen between them and there’s gonna be no room for me anymore. Sure, I’ll keep seeing him, but it’s not gonna be the same. These days we spend on music and writing will fade away.

I come out of my head long enough to realize I’m staring at the guitar that still resides in the middle of my living room. Yet another thing I’m too messed up to figure out. It just sits and sits and sits and mocks me for being the idiot I am. I slept with the worst guy. I lied to Shiro. I like the wrong guy. Everything. Everything everything everything—

I manhandle the fretboard and march my way into my room, dragging the guitar behind me. I throw it onto my bed and turn around without checking to see if it’s on the verge of falling. I slam the door, not caring if my neighbors complain about it later.

It’s always in the way. Get out of the way.

  


* * *

  


“Knock knock!” I hear a muffled voice call from outside my door. There’s no way. It’s Saturday.

I open the door and there he is, dressed casually but nice enough to impress someone on a date. Or it would if he was actually on his date.

“What happened to Nyma?” I ask. He doesn’t answer me and instead strolls through the gap between me and the doorway. He stops almost immediately. 

“What happened to the guitar?” He spins around. “You didn’t throw it out, did you?!”

I shake my head. “It’s in my room. Come on.” I lead him in and point out its new spot on the guitar stand that came in the box. It’s settled beside my old guitar, blatantly showing off how young and pretty it is comparatively.

Lance raises an eyebrow at me. “When did you move it in here?”

“The other day. Just kinda got in the mood for it.”

“Holy shit, dude. You actually picked it up and moved it. On your own. Without me here.”

I smirk at that just the tiniest bit. “Oh ye of little faith.”

“Well,” he claps his hands together, “this calls for celebration. I’m getting you dinner _and_ ice cream because no celebration goes without ice cream.”

He takes his computer out of his backpack which I realize is strange. He shouldn’t have his backpack right now much less his laptop. He should be out with Nyma instead of with me.

He’s busy tapping away at his computer so I let it go for the moment. The only thing he asks me is what flavor shake I want.

“Your favorite would be vanilla,” he mumbles.

When he’s finally done, he’s trying to look anywhere but at me. Too bad my curiosity is killing me because _what the hell is he doing here right now_?

“What happened with Nyma?” I ask again, this time emphasizing each word.

He shrugs. “Date got cancelled so I came here.”

“I’m sorry. What?” Nyma doesn’t cancel dates. She goes on a ton of them and usually drops whoever it is after the first date, but she wouldn’t cancel.

“Not a big deal. She wasn’t woman enough to handle all this.” He smiles, but it’s so weak I’m not sure it counts as one.

I cross my arms and wait. We look in each other’s eyes for far too long before he turns away and starts talking again.

“It was all fine and I had it all set up: reservations, tickets, the works. Then I get a text like an hour before we’re supposed to meet and she said she just got together with this guy and she’s sorry she couldn’t tell me sooner. Apparently it happened the night before, which means she forgot about the date.”

My face falls. I know I’m supposed to feel elated that he’s not going on a date with someone who isn’t me, but this is not what I wanted at all. He’s not broken, but he sure as hell looks like someone kicked him in the stomach multiple times. The idea that anyone could make him feel like an afterthought or a second choice is ridiculous. I wish I could tell Nyma off. I know it wouldn’t do any good, but anything to make Lance feel even a tiny bit better would relieve this horrible catch in my throat.

“Give me your phone.”

“What?”

“I’m not okay with this,” I say, holding my palm out.

“Keith, really, it’s okay. It’s understandable that—”

“It’s not.” He doesn’t budge so I drop my arm. “You didn’t deserve that.”

He guffaws. “Yeah. I know.”

“Lance. I mean it.”

“It’s what happens sometimes when you get over-excited about something.” His shoulders slump and he’s burning holes in my floor. “Pretty girl hits on me and suddenly I think it’s gonna work out. That’s not really how it works in my experience.”

I can’t stop myself before I blurt out, “Then let me make up for it.”

I had to say it. I need him to stop saying that to himself. The thing that makes him Lance is his passion for life. If he doesn’t think he should be getting excited about things, then why would the rest of us even try? I’m sure I’m giving away every feeling in my head right now, the ones I can never say out loud, but if I am, Lance isn’t saying a thing.

“She’s a dick and someday you’re gonna be with someone who actually gives a shit,” I say. 

He chuckles. “For right now, my brain doesn’t believe you, but after ice cream and movies, I think I’ll give that idea a chance.” He plays with his fingers before saying, “I guess you’re my replacement date.”

I’m simultaneously being punched in the gut and gaining brain fuzz. God the things he says are lethal. I make sure to breathe and try to get back to normal.

I don’t trust myself to say something, so I give a soft smile and he goes to grab up his belongings. We hunker down in the living room for the rest of the night and talk over movies like they aren’t playing in the first place. There’s still hints of sadness from earlier, but it’s disappearing more and more. I’m glad to be the one helping him instead of hurting this time.

Eventually, he leans up against me and falls asleep just like that. I don’t bother to wake him up because it’s one of the few times I can be like this with him. I pass out right there next to him. I know my neck will kill me in the morning, but at this point, I’m too exhausted and happy to care. It’s worth it.

  


* * *

  


It was not worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been waiting so long to be able to use that song. I found the AMV on YouTube and fell in love with it, so I'm lucky it could fall into place here. Please go watch it 'cause it's super cute. Lots of Klance.
> 
> It's been almost a month since I've posted. Usually I'm faster, but I got super busy and Depression is a thing sometimes, but I'm back! I missed these boys more than ever when I was away.
> 
> Oh yeah! I binge watched season 6 last and hoo boy if you haven't watched it already go do that. It's awesome. I love. I was really excited to see some other author's headcanons getting confirmed. Congrats to you guys! There were a few headcanons I've always adored and seeing them make their way into the show was amazing. Hope to see some more confirmed in the future!
> 
> Anyways, chapter 8 is in progress and I'm sure there will be more fluff 'cause let's face it: I live for that. See you guys again soon!


	8. Change Positions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Song:** _Señora Santana_  
>  **Note:** The song does not have one country in which it is sung. It’s just a children’s song that can be found in multiple Spanish-speaking countries including Cuba.

* * *

_Broken you are not_  
_All your wounds will heal_  
_Keep your mouth wide open_  
_To honesty you must kneel_

* * *

My guitar is in my lap, the strap hanging loosely around my shoulders for the first time in months. Despite every nightmare scenario I’ve ever thought of, actually holding it close feels right. I missed the weight of its body on my thighs. My fingers instinctually place themselves on the fretboard and my right hand hovers above the strings at the base. 

“Can you play?” Lance asks. 

Unfortunately that’s a negative. Every song I’ve ever learned is missing from my head. My fingers refuse to land anywhere in particular, no longer remembering any chords. Even if I could play, I don’t think anything coherent would come out.

“Alright. I’ve got an idea.” Lance grabs my old guitar from the corner and holds it the same way I hold mine. “You’re gonna teach me.”

“I thought we were only doing one impossible task at a time?”

“Rude,” he says. “If you can’t play, you can at least show me how to. Then you can get used to the sound.”

“They don’t sound the same at all.” 

He shrugs. “It’s the closest we’re gonna get. Are we doing this or not?”

It’s different hearing a live guitar versus a recorded one. When I listen to music on my phone, it doesn’t phase me. It’s part of a mix of instruments usually and it’s not close enough to me. Here I’ll be able to feel every vibration. I’ll be able to hear the notes without any distortion from an audio engineering team. It’s raw and it’s real and it’s threatening my survival.

But I want to hear it. I hate that I do. I love that I do. I’ve never needed something more in my life.

“What do you want to learn?”

His eyes brighten. He goes into his phone to find a song and doesn’t settle on one for a few minutes. When he finally hits the play button, my world stops.

_Wise men say only fools rush in_

Why do I ever trust my decisions.

_But I can’t help falling in love with you_

I unfreeze for just enough time to rip his phone from his hand and shut it off. 

“Not that one,” I squeak out. I slip down onto the floor and lean up against my bed. My head is in my hands, which are trying to stop the static that’s building up too quickly. “I don’t like that one.”

He puts his hand on my knee. “I’m sorry! Jesus I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”

I shake my head hard.

I’m lost before I even seek a way out. The crunch of metal on metal fills my head, making my eardrums feel like they’re going to burst. There’s a faucet leaking. Oh wait. No. Blood. That’s blood. Now my feet are under the blankets of a hospital bed. A nurse walks in and gives me “the look”, and I know that I’ve lost everything again.

I’ll never stop losing everything. I can imagine Shiro getting married to an unidentifiable face that’ll become real eventually. Someday it won’t be faceless. Someday he’ll have someone who won’t want his kid brother hanging around all the time. I’ll have to accept that. I’ll have to accept losing everyone I’ve ever had because that’s how life works out for me. Maybe I’m not worth enough. Maybe the world is trying to tell me something.

My throat is dry and my face is wet, and I can’t stop either problem. At some point Lance moved next to me and placed his hand in mine. I can’t even function enough to enjoy it. All I can be is thankful that it’s bringing me back a tiny bit even if I’m nowhere near stable. I lean over and place my head on his shoulder. I can’t find it in me to care about whether or not he’ll be weird about it later.

It feels like hours before I can see and hear properly. I hiccup every two or three breaths. I can’t look at Lance. I hate being this messy. Why can’t I just be normal for once in my life? Why did that song have to be so popular?

“I’m sorry.”

For a second I think I said it, but I realize it’s not my voice. It’s his. He hasn’t let go of my hand, so I give it a squeeze.

“Stop. Please,” I say. It hurts a little.

He doesn’t say it again, but I can tell he’s still repeating it in his head. It’s what I’d do.

“It’s just…” Where do I start? I don’t want to go back into hysterics, but I need him to know that this is never his fault. He shouldn’t feel sorry for me. “I didn’t ever tell you about my parents, did I?”

He shakes his head and I busy myself with scanning my bookshelf, reading the titles to bring my senses back to the present.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

He’s right. I don’t. I could just tell him never to play the song again, but he deserves more. He’s always deserved more.

“My biological mom was in the Air Force and she didn’t make it out. She wasn’t even in the air at the time. She saved her commanding officer from a stray soldier who managed to infiltrate their camp. He got his life and I got the honor of receiving her Purple Heart.” I laugh bitterly. “My dad died six months later. Apparently grief can do that.”

He shifts. For a moment I let myself believe he did it to get closer to me.

“How old were you?” he asks. His voice is quiet, almost as if he doesn’t know if he should be talking at all.

“I was six,” I reply. “I used to think the worst part was no one really explaining to me where my parents were and why people looked at me the wrong way, but neither of those were it. The worst part was my family not wanting to take me in.”

Tears fall now like they did then. Adult faces look down on me, not-so whispering about who would take responsibility. My parents’ marriage wasn’t exactly a celebration between their families. Only some of them accepted it. The ones who did, however, were too far away or had too many kids of their own to take care of. Everyone thought that someone else would take care of me, so they didn’t think they had to worry.

“But someone did take you in. Shiro’s your brother, right?”

“Yeah. We grew up in the same neighborhood and my parents were friends with his. They’d known me since I was a baby and they already wanted another kid of their own, so they decided to take custody. No one in my family argued with them over it. I’m glad they didn’t.”

“So…” he trails off. I know what he’s trying to say.

“I didn’t need an explanation for where Shiro’s parents went when they died. I was 13.” I push myself to keep my momentum. “I was there.”

He takes a sharp intake of breath. Part of me feels like I should stop, but I’m right on the brink. If I don’t say it now, I’ll never say it again.

“It was a car crash. Apparently the other guy reached down for something and wasn’t looking at the road. He slammed into us and it…” _Killed them_ , I don’t say. “Shiro was already going to AU at the time, but he still took me in. It meant moving away from where we grew up, but I don’t think either of us can go back there anymore. Ever since then, it’s been me and him.”

“Jesus.”

“It was after a performance. My guitar teacher had this little showcase and we were coming home from that. We were singing that damn song and everything just fell apart.” I give a wry smile. “You know, if you think about it, if I hadn’t picked up the guitar in the first place, maybe my life wouldn’t be the way it is at all.”

“No. Nonononono. Stop that. That is not your fault. _This_ is not your fault.” He’s staring at the side of my head and squeezing my hand too tight.

“Oww.”

He lets go. Damn my mouth.

“I hate that there’s no other reality you could jump to where things are better, but you can’t do this to yourself. You didn’t do this to them. You didn’t hurt them.”

My chest is constricting and I feel nausea coming on. “I know I didn’t, but—”

“You know how you told me what happened with Nyma wasn’t my fault?” I nod. “I know it’s not even close to the same thing, but you told me I didn’t do anything wrong. I can’t control what other people do. _You_ can’t control what mistakes other people make. The only person who fucked up is that dumbass who looked away. You played a guitar. You didn’t hurt them.”

I know I’m a hypocrite. It’s probably the best word to describe me besides “quitter.” I can’t make Lance at ease because I don’t even believe in my own words.

He reaches out for my hand and tightens around it, but he’s more gentle this time. We sit in silence for a little while, taking in all the words we said and the words we aren’t saying. 

He clears his throat. “So how long’s Shiro been gone?”

“Last year. My last year at AU. I told him to go. He got into a PhD program he’d been dying for and I made him go. That’s why I can’t tell him about school. He won’t go back if I do and I can’t have him give up the life he wants for me.”

He doesn’t argue with me and I’m grateful. Maybe he doesn’t agree with me, but at least he knows better. 

“I need some water.”

He follows me to the kitchen and I try not to look at him, but I fail miserably. I sneak glances and he’s looking at me with “the look.” I’ll always be Little Orphan Keith in people’s eyes.

“Please don’t look at me like that,” I say, voice gravelly.

“Like I pity you?” he asks. “Hate to break it to you, but I do.”

I gape at him and he holds his hands up in defense. “You can’t tell me something like that and expect me not to. You went through some shit that other people wouldn’t survive, but here’s the thing: you did. I hate that your parents died and I hate that Shiro had to leave. I can’t even imagine that.”

I think of Lance’s family adorning his bedroom walls. His parents look so kind and warm. His siblings seem loud and obnoxious, just like him. I bet they fill rooms just by being in them. They remind me of how my family used to be, the one where everyone could be there. I’m only a little bit sane, but I don’t think I could handle watching Lance go through the same. I doubt my eyes wouldn’t look the same as his do right now.

“Do you think I think of you less because of this?”

I shrug.

“Listen to me closely: you’ll never be any less of a person to me. You’ve blown up on me and shut me out at times, but I’m still here. You’re more than a sob story. This doesn’t change things. It just explains why you are the way you are.”

I scoff incredulously. “You’re an idiot.” 

He smirks. “And yet you still let me in your apartment.”

“Maybe I should change that.”

“Rude.”

We’re in my kitchen post-panic attack giggling like absolute morons and I don’t understand the way my life works anymore.

I think I’m okay with that.

  


* * *

  


“Tell me a story,” I say, laying back on a pillow on my bed while Lance watches Vine compilations.

He laughs at one particularly loud one and doesn’t turn away from the screen. “What kind of story?”

“I dunno. I kinda wanna hear about your family.”

He pauses the video and raises an eyebrow at me. “You sure?” I nod. “Well, do you want something from when I was a kid or something recently ‘cause I’ve got a ton all over the board.”

I think for a moment. I see Lance as he is now and I wanna know more. There’s a past to him I never got to see, a past that I can only view through him. “When you were a kid.”

He shuts his laptop and puts it to the side. I can see memories running through his head, each one painting a new expression on his face. “Okay,” he says, diving into one that gets him grinning. “I got one.”

He starts off with a story about his sister. She used to hand off her books to him when she was done reading them, which is why he got so into writing. They’d talk for hours about imaginary worlds and adventures beyond comprehension, forgetting that there was school the next morning.

He shows me a scar on his knee and tells me he got it from Marco. Marco was irritated with Lance about always hogging the DS they shared, so he threw a stylus at him. Little did they know that styluses do indeed puncture the skin if thrown hard enough.

He cackles when he remembers him and his siblings making breakfast for their mom for Mother’s Day and ruining the entire kitchen. She ended up being the one to make everything in the end. They still had to do the cleaning, though.

It’s funny all the little things you remember when you think back. Things that could seem insignificant when you’re thinking about who you are, but they’re what make up every component of your life, like stardust before it becomes something bigger and brighter. While he talks, I can’t help slipping into my own memories a little bit. I can see my mom helping me out with my math homework and getting flustered alongside me when she realized neither of us could figure it out. My dad tried to help, but he couldn’t figure out Algebra for the life of him. We ended up staring at one page at our dining room table, only breaking away when Shiro finally helped us out. I think my parents were more relieved than I was that it got done.

“Sorry. You said ‘a story.’ I think I just told you a billion,” Lance says, still lost in thought.

I smile, looking up at my ceiling so he can’t see me. Right now is too dangerous for that. 

“I can see why you miss them.”

“Yeah. I do. All the time.”

I hum contentedly. “I used to hate hearing people tell stories about their family. I was so fucked up over everything that I couldn’t stop hating all of it. I couldn’t make memories with them anymore and I couldn’t change it.” Lance moves to apologize, but I put out a hand to stop him. “But it’s different. It’s just nice to hear it. I may not have my parents, but you have this incredible family and hearing you talk about them is like… like… magic.”

As much as I realize what I said was too much, I can’t take it back anymore. The fact is, it’s true. I never want him to stop telling me stories about the people he loves. I don’t care if it’s Hunk or Pidge or any member of his family, I just want to know what makes him happiest. 

He tries to swat me from down on the floor and misses. He tries again and barely grazes my arm, but that leaves him content all the same. 

“Well, I am a great storyteller, so you’re welcome,” he says. “Oh, yeah! I’ve got another one. So Veronica is _super_ lactose intolerant and she brought a guy home…”

It’s hard to stop him even when he really should be leaving. I want him to keep talking, but if I let him, I don’t think I could let him leave.

  


* * *

  


**From: Lance**  
**come over**

**From: Keith**  
**Is this where you tell me your parents aren’t home?**

**From: Lance**  
**theyre not but pidge and hunk are**

**From: Lance**  
**we need a fourth for teams in smash bros cause playing against cpu suuuuucks**

**From: Lance**  
**please tell me you dont suck because team punk over here is gonna kick my ass otherwise**

**From: Keith**  
**I haven’t played since Melee, but sure.**

**From: Lance**  
**jesus christ you need severe updating**

**From: Lance**  
**no wonder you have that mullet**

**From: Lance**  
**anyways get your ass over here**

**From: Keith**  
**On my way.**

  


* * *

  


“Lance. Throw the Poké Ball.” As much as I like the idea of being on the same team as Lance, it doesn’t change the fact that he sucks. Plain and simple. I’ve had to pick up basically all the slack, which Hunk and Pidge started noticing. They tag-teamed me multiple times so only Lance is left to jump off the sides. Or hold onto items for way too long.

“I’m waiting for the right moment,” he says, sticking the tip of his tongue out of the side of his mouth.

“You’re at over 90% damage. That moment better be now,” I say. Lance miraculously knocked Hunk off the stage right after I died, so it’s just been him as Zero Suit Samus and Pidge as Pikmin & Olimar. Lance is running as far away as possible while Pidge stalks her prey. She’s waiting for the right opportunity, and she always gets it right.

Lance decides to go in for the kill and throws the Poké Ball right over her head instead of anywhere close to her. They’re close to the ledge underneath Hyrule Castle and she only has to knock him around a few times before he plummets to the nothingness below. He might’ve lasted longer than I did, but man he doesn’t know what to do with his time.

Lance is screeching while Pidge is beaming. She’s cackling along with me. I’m on the losing team, but nothing is more amazing than watching Lance screw that up so royally. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? There’s no way that was fair!” He starts to disappear down the hallway mumbling something about controller lag. I hear the bathroom door slam. He’s probably going to psyche himself up before he tries not to lose again. He’s done it a couple times since I’ve been here and his sessions last longer each time. Pidge, Hunk, and I have enjoyed describing Lance’s defeats over the course of the last hour or so. This time though, the topic changes to me.

“So. What’s up with you and Lance?” Pidge is directing her question at me, an eyebrow raised and amusement adorning her features. 

“What about me and Lance?” God I don’t need this right now.

“I dunno. You guys have been getting pretty cozy,” she says. “Do you even realize how much of each other’s carbon dioxide you’re probably breathing at this point?” Hunk nudges her. “Okay, not that close, but you get what I’m saying.”

I widen my eyes. I know Pidge is smart, but I didn’t know she was good at deciphering me. I thought I had relatively good control over my emotions and actions, but apparently it’s not good enough.

“It’s not like that.”

“You sure?”

I fidget. “I’m positive.”

“Well how about just you? What’s going on with you?”

“Hunk, please repeat my words because obviously she doesn’t listen to me.”

Hunk is looking with interest and shakes his head. “Sorry. I’ve been wanting to know what’s up for a while.”

He’s betrayed me. I loved him once. I don’t know how I’ll survive his villainy. I sigh. “There’s nothing going on with me. He’s just helping me out with something.”

“Helping you out with something?” Her eyebrow raises higher if that’s even possible.

“That’s not what I meant. He’s just helping me with some music stuff while I help him with some writing stuff.”

They turn and look at each other. “You mean you’ve seen what he’s writing? He’s told you?” Hunk asks.

“Yeah? I mean, it’s not like he trusted me with it at first, but eventually he showed me.”

Pidge gapes at me while Hunk puts his hands on the side of his head.

“Please tell me you like him. Just, make this a reality for me,” Pidge says.

I’m not one hundred percent sure about Pidge, but I know that Hunk doesn’t tell anyone anything you don’t want him to. I wonder if saying this out loud will make this go away faster. Maybe if someone else hears it they’ll talk me out of it and it’ll be fine for once in my life.

“You guys know as well as I do that it’s not gonna happen.”

The second I finish they both high five each other and Pidge goes to hug me. I don’t get a chance to ask them about me seeing Lance’s writing before them before Lance is back for vengeance.

“Playtime’s over kids. Let’s go.”

Pidge is still grinning like a little gremlin and Hunk keeps glancing at me when he thinks I can’t see him. Lance is oblivious to everything around him, instead focusing on what will inevitably be another failed attempt at getting anyone KO’d without me helping him out. In his world, nothing’s changed.

Me? I’ve got an entirely new one.

  


* * *

  


“Turn your finger onto the side. If you can’t reach you don’t wanna place the entire pad of your finger on the string.”

“Like this?” He tilts his finger slightly, but it’s not quite there. He’s still covering up the next string over with the rest of his finger and it’s muffling the sound.

“Here.” I reposition him. I don’t linger because if I do, I’m not sure I can keep a blush from flooding in. I’ve had to touch him plenty of times while I help him learn, but I try to stay away as much as possible. I try to show him with my new guitar in my own hands, but sometimes he doesn’t get it.

“Okay, now strum,” I say.

He follows my instructions and brings the pick down through the strings, making a sound that has me shivering. As fucked up as I feel, it’s beautiful at the same time. Seeing Lance play makes it even more attractive. Watching someone else enjoy it is bringing something back in me. Whether that’s jealousy, fear, or passion, I have no idea. Probably all of it.

He beams up at me. It’s nothing much, but he’s learned a few basic chords, enough to learn a song. I keep making sure his fingers are in the right place while he transitions between chords, putting together a song that’s literally for children, but nice nonetheless.

“Okay, I think I got it,” he says. “Think I can play it now?”

“I mean, sure. You want me to play the video and you can follow along?”

“Hmm.” He strums without conviction and stares at his left hand. “You can sing it, can’t you.”

I straighten my back and stare. It’s not like I’m afraid of singing. That was never something I gave up, but it’s weird. I’m not on a stage in front of strangers. This is my bedroom and my audience is Lance. This is too small, too intimate. There’re no lights to shine in my eyes to hide the looks directed at me. There’s no personality I can switch to so I’m not insecure. He knows me. I can’t hide here.

“I don’t know about that. My pronunciation is pretty bad,” I say, running my hand through my hair.

“Come on. It’s fine. Plus, it’s easier to play with someone who’ll match your pace.”

I sigh. I don’t remember the last time I could really say no to Lance. “Fine, but don’t expect much.”

I nod and count him in. “Five, six, seven, eight.”

He fumbles the beginning a tiny bit, playing slower than the video, but he’s gaining confidence. It’s my turn and I chime in.

_“Señora Santana, por qué llora el niño_  
_Por una manzana que se le ha perdido_  
_Yo te daré una, yo te daré dos_  
_Una para el niño y otra para vos”_

____

He plays a short interlude and I start to notice something. There was an itch when we started playing that made me feel like I know this song, but I figured I’d heard it once or twice and that was all there was to it. Now that I’m singing it, I know there _is_ more to it. I can’t place it though. I almost miss my cue.

_“Yo no quiero una, yo no quiero dos_  
_Yo quiero la mía_  
_Que se me perdió”_

He plays one more round of the beginning motif, but doesn’t go onto the rest of the song. He’s getting the hang of it and it shows. I wonder if that’s how I looked when I first started playing. I know for sure that I was frustrated all the time, taking it out on the strings by strumming them to hell and back, but I remember the good moments too. Huh. There were good moments.

“You know, I really hope this works because your voice is insanely good,” he says.

He doesn’t know a lot about music of course, so I doubt he knows that the song isn’t all that complicated or difficult to sing. Still, any compliment from him is perfect for me.

“Who said you would ever hear me sing again?” I ask, eyebrows raised.

He scoffs and puts the guitar back in its stand. “Don’t hold out on me now, emo boy. You’ve come so far.”

I know he’s trying to make it sound like he’s joking, but I’m starting to learn when he’s being honest with me. His smile gives him away. It’s subtle, like he doesn’t realize he’s making it. It’s the same way he looked when I caught him dancing in the bathroom at Pidge’s. I never thought that look would be directed anywhere near me, but here it is. He’s killing me.

“Hey. I feel like I know that song for some reason. Where’s it from,” I ask. 

“Oh, you don’t remember?” His smile stays. “I kinda sing it when you have your panic attacks. It’s just a lullaby from when I was a kid.”

That’s it. It runs around in the back of my head, never clear enough to identify, but now I can hear it in his voice. It’s the song that’s brought me back to Earth when I really needed it. The thing that should put me to sleep is the reason I can wake up.

I take off my own guitar and set it beside the old one. Somehow it looks less like it’s trying to show up my old guitar and instead it’s trying to distinguish itself without diminishing the value of what’s been by my side for 8 plus years.

“You know,” Lance starts. “Maybe I should really learn the guitar. I bet I could outdo you in no time. I’ll have all the ladies and gentlemen in the palm of my hand and none’ll be left for you.”

I chuckle. “Does that mean I should stop teaching you?”

He gives me a serious look and places his hands on my shoulders. “If you stop teaching me I will cry.”

I wouldn’t put it past him.

“So, when you play again, you have to sing, too. That’s just a rule I’m setting.”

I don’t think singing will add or detract, so I guess that’s a sacrifice I can make. “Sure. Not a big deal for me.”

“God, I can’t believe I’m gonna be the first person to hear you play since you stopped.” He stretches his arms above his head. I remember how stiff I used to get when I started playing. I should teach him posture next. “I feel all special and warm inside.”

I push him with my shoulder. “You just happened to be here.”

He grins. “Well I’m glad I was.”

I swallow, swearing that even my neighbors can hear me. When his voice gets quiet it does something horrible to my brain. It’s warmth and blinding heat. It’s comfort and hell.

He notices my silence and clears his throat. “Anyways, I got an essay to write and your mullet is distracting. Drive me home?”

“Like you even need to ask,” I reply. “By the way, I looked it up and I do not have a mullet. It has to be way shorter in the front to qualify. My hair is just long. Normal. Your insult is invalid.”

“It’s not like I said it looks bad on you.” He stops and backtracks. “I mean, not like you shouldn’t cut your hair. It would look way better. Well, I don’t know about that ‘cause I haven’t seen it, but I’m sure it’d look great. Wow. Okay. Forget I said that. It’s a mullet. Insult still valid. Disregard all previous words.” 

We get to my bike and I don’t say anything until the engine roars.

“Not a chance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I don't think I would've finished this nearly as fast as I did except that Anime Expo is breathing down my neck and I still had a costume to make. I maybe had to re-do a dress, but that's a story for a different time.
> 
> Thank you to all the people who continue to read this story. It's a huge motivator for me knowing that someone else is enjoying something that makes me happy. I can't wait to finish it for you all (AKA four chapters from now omg). 
> 
> Anyways, chapter 9 will be in progress the second I'm back from AX. Until then!


	9. Swiss Roll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Song:** _Stand By Me_ by Ben E. King
> 
> If anyone happens to want the matcha swiss roll recipe in the story, it's based on one from online. I can't vouch for the taste, but it looks awesome so I'm definitely trying it at some point. [Here's the link.](https://www.sweetandsavorybyshinee.com/strawberry-matcha-roll-cake/)

* * *

_Start with four_  
_Then add two_  
_All that’s left is to_  
_Add you too_

* * *

Lance strums my old guitar, barely touching the pick to the strings. I don’t bother correcting him ‘cause we’ve been working for hours. We both need a break.

I flip through more pages of Lance’s future book he brought for me. The story is picking up speed, but the main character is having trouble bonding with his teammates. They’re all learning how to navigate each other, so that’s inevitable. Being thrown into a situation where you didn’t get to choose the people you’ll be stuck with for an indefinite amount of time isn’t the best.

I love it and make sure to exaggerate my reactions so he knows it. Still, I’m kinda confused about the relationship between the main character and his love interest. “These guys are actually gonna end up together?” I question. “They seem like polar opposites.”

He keeps strumming along. “Not really.”

I sit up on my bed. “Uh, they completely are. The main character is confident and loud while the love interest is broody and uninterested. I get the idea of ‘opposites attract’, but usually they can at least have one conversation with each other that’s halfway normal.”

He gives a smug smile. “You gotta keep reading. Trust me. You’ll see.”

I do, but I still don’t see it. This kind of relationship would never work. I don’t wanna discourage Lance, though. This is his story. If he thinks it works, then it does. Maybe in some universe it’s a reality.

I’m on the last two paragraphs when my phone buzzes, knocking me out of Lance’s world. I wanna re-read it later anyways, so it can wait for a bit. I rub my eyes which are starting to sting from strain. The papers in my hands are replaced with my phone and “Pidgeon” flashes across the screen.

**Group Chat: emo boy, lover boy lance, pidgeon, hunky bear**

**Group Name Changed To: “Hunk it’s time”**

**From: pidgeon**  
**I would like to remind you all that dinner is at 7**

Lance picks us his own phone and smirks. All I am is confused. I check back in the chat logs and don’t see anything about meeting up. I don’t think we set dinner plans. Knowing them they set something up while I was half-listening at work. Guess that means I’m stuck. Not that I really mind. 

**Group Name Changed To: “hunk its thyme”**

**From: lover boy lance**  
**you missed a perfectly good opportunity there**

 **From: pidgeon**  
**I need you to not**

I give Lance a look, but he’s missing it while he types out his next response.

 **From: lover boy lance**  
**ill be there on time cause keith is taking me**

“Wait, taking you to what?” I ask.

His eyes widen. “Holy shit we didn’t tell you.”

 **From: lover boy lance**  
**guys keith doesnt know about friendsgiving**

 **From: lover boy lance**  
**i am a true disgrace to the motherland**

 **From: lover boy lance**  
**lo siento my dear sweet cuba**

 **From: hunky bear**  
**oh man! we totally forgot. we just kinda assumed you were coming sooo…**

 **From: pidgeon**  
**Remember your 21st**

 **From: pidgeon**  
**You’re coming to this too**

 **From: emo boy**  
**So I guess you guys do Friendsgiving together.**

 **From: emo boy**  
**Also can someone change my name because why.**

**lover boy lance Changed “emo boy” to “mullet man”**

**From: mullet man**  
**Lance.**

**lover boy lance Changed “mullet man” to “the music man”**

**From: the music man**  
**I...can accept this.**

 **From: pidgeon**  
**ANYWAYS**

 **From: pidgeon**  
**Friday**

 **From: pidgeon**  
**Hunk is in charge of food because duh**

 **From: pidgeon**  
**Lance is in charge of decorations**

 **From: pidgeon**  
**And i’m in charge of them**

 **From: pidgeon**  
**After dinner is christmas music and decorations**

 **From: pidgeon**  
**Because christmas**

 **From: lover boy lance**  
**see i still dont understand why you get to skip out on responsibilities**

 **From: lover boy lance**  
**its your house**

 **From: pidgeon**  
**You have long since had your guest status revoked**

 **From: pidgeon**  
**You’re one of us**

 **From: hunky bear**  
**one of us! one of us!**

They refuse to close the store on Thanksgiving itself, but I’m getting Friday off as a trade for working on the holiday. Thank god for missing the Black Friday rush.

It’s been a while since I celebrated with anyone other than my brother. Plus, Christmas decorations are kinda the best. I’m thinking all this like I have any choice in the matter.

 **From: the music man**  
**I’m in.**

Lance says “yesssss” out loud as he types it in the chat.

 **From: hunky bear**  
**you have anything you like? i can make whatever!**

We don’t usually have anything extra special during Thanksgiving for the most part, but there’s one thing we always make no matter what. I can’t break that tradition again this year. It’s our thing and I’m not letting it die.

 **From: the music man**  
**Well, you don’t have to make anything specific, but do you mind if I bring something? I know your food is insane, but it’s kinda a family tradition.**

 **From: hunky bear**  
**of course! traditions are always welcome here.**

 **From: pidgeon**  
**So now that that’s settled**

 **From: pidgeon**  
**Gear up kids**

 **From: pidgeon**  
**And by gear up I mean start planning because I will not accept less than perfection in the Holt household**

 **From: pidgeon**  
**Lance**

 **From: pidgeon**  
**Don’t be late or I’ll lock you out until after dinner like last year**

 **From: lover boy lance**  
**message received**

We look up from our phones at the same time and Lance is giddy. “Dude, you’re about to experience the best part of the year.”

“I thought Halloween was the best?”

He shushes me. “Neither of those holidays are on the same plane of existence.” I roll my eyes. “By the way, you’re helping. You got a pass for Halloween ‘cause you were new, but you’re one of us now. No dipping out.”

“If I’m helping out with decorations I’m not really much of a planner,” I reply. “I don’t even know what you guys have.”

“I think I have a list somewhere in here.” I wait for him to laugh at his own joke, but he doesn’t. He actually has an itemized list of every decoration they have. I wonder if he has one for Halloween too. 

“We can maybe go over that later,” I say.

“Right.” He opens his photos app instead and scrolls up. “Instead lemme show you last year’s.”

He finds an album labeled “Proof of My Genius” and opens it up. I expect more lame selfies of himself, but instead I’m in awe.

“Holy shit.”

The first photo he shows me is of what I think is the outside of Pidge’s house. I say “I think” because it’s covered in lights of blue and white. There are blow-up snowmen on the lawn accompanied by abstract white reindeer statues bent in various positions. A wreath hangs on the front door, dwarfing it to the point where I’m not sure how anyone can get in or out. Snow is dusted mostly on shrubs, but it shows on some portions of the ground where the wind blew it off. 

The next one is of the inside. It’s less over-the-top, but it’s still stunning. There’s a smoldering fire in the fireplace, logs almost completely turned to ash. Above it hangs another wreath, this one appropriately sized. There are six stocking, each one bearing a name. Four are for Pidge’s family and the other two are for Hunk and Lance. A tree stands tall, decorated to the brim with blue, white, and silver ornaments. The lights are the same, but alternating to keep a sense of diversity. Tinsel is strewn neatly around the tree, mirroring the shape of the quilt at the bottom that’s partially covered in pine needles.

When I first met Lance, I don’t think I could say that he’s careful. He’s a mess of flailing limbs, he’s loud, and he’s constantly trying to get on people’s nerves. Now I can see I was wrong. His writing was the first thing that threw me off. When he works, his focus is unbreakable. He may talk back as per usual, but it’s only partial answers that get cut off when he gets a particularly good idea and needs to concentrate. His words are well chosen, none of which seem out of place. Seeing his decorations is a testament to the fact that he’s willing to be as detail-oriented as possible to bring happiness to others.

He flips through more and I can’t stop being impressed. He’s done golds and greens and so many different color schemes. He’d probably be able to make mustard yellow look good. Scratch that. He can and did. He gives me a smirk and does a mocking bow. “Glad to see you appreciate my work.”

“Lance, it’s…” Beautiful.

Lance’s face goes serious and he doesn’t look away from my eyes. “You think it’s beautiful?”

I don’t remember saying that out loud and I have to turn away because I feel the blush coming on. I don’t regret saying it. He’s heard me say that I love his writing a billion times, so complimenting him on this shouldn’t be any different. This is our normal.

I try to force down a smile but I can still feel the corners of my mouth twitch. “Yeah. I do.”

He reaches up to run his fingers along my chin and my breath hitches, letting me inhale the scent of cocoa butter. He moves to cup my cheek and swipes his thumb along it. “Look at me.” I can’t. “Please?”

I want to melt. He’s looking at me and I don’t ever want him to stop. I feel like I know way too much about him because his eyes are telling me that I’m somehow important to him. I don’t know how to handle that information. My hands at my sides feel wrong, but I can’t move. The moment might fall apart if I do. I can’t let this fall apart.

His hand is gone before I get the chance to test my theory. He clears his throat and breaks eye contact. “Sorry. I made that weird.”

Being the idiot I am, I don’t say, _I wanted you to_ or _come back_. I instead say, “Yeah.”

My brain is fuzzing out and I wish I could’ve said anything else because he’s upset. It doesn’t seem like it’s at me and more at himself. He twiddles his fingers and now he’s the one who refuses to look at me. After a minute he looks up to the ceiling and pushes out a weak laugh. 

“God, we’ve got the weirdest relationship ever.”

He’s not wrong. I just wish he wouldn’t say it like it’s a bad thing; like it’s something that never should’ve happened.

“You don’t have to do any of this for me,” I say, not having to specify what “this” is. I can’t hold him down. If he wants things to go back to before, then I’m perfectly happy to do that. Well, not perfectly happy, but I’d rather keep him around just a little than lose everything.

He keeps his gaze on the ceiling. “I don’t have to.” I can feel my heart physically crack, but I have to let it go. I can do this. 

“I want to do this.”

I can’t do this.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing to me. I can’t enlighten him either. I want to hold him close and pepper him with kisses wherever possible. How else can I even attempt to give him back everything he’s given me?

I jump a little when his pinky touches mine, but he draws back. He’s always grounding me and keeping me safe. I shouldn’t get to be the only one who feels like that. I don’t know how to fix everything. I don’t know how to make sure things can be right between us all the time. All I know is that, when his hand is in mine, I’m doing something right.

We don’t say anything for a long time, only parting hands when he has to go. Hunk is picking him up today instead, so we give awkward waves as he leaves. He’s out the door and I’m in my apartment with the horrible feeling that I’m falling in love and I can’t take it back.

  


* * *

  


Every time I’m too close to Lance, my head screams at me to move. I can’t anymore. When he gravitates towards me, I don’t keep myself away.

“Alright, decor list done and plan made. Just gonna send this to Pidge real quick.” He hits a couple buttons in his e-mail. “And sent!”

He grins at me and bumps my shoulder.

“Now I’ve gotta make dessert,” I say.

On my kitchen counter is heavy cream, matcha powder, and rinsed strawberries among other things. Each scent is strong on its own, but without even starting the cooking, the sweetness of each scent melts together. The last time I made this was a year ago and the last time I baked in general was around the same time. I’ve cooked in the last couple weeks, but anything from Hunk’s cookbook barely counts as effort.

Lance pushes up his sleeves and rubs his hands together. “What first?”

“Just preheat the oven to 375 and line the pan with parchment paper. Make sure to spray it with cooking spray.”

“On it.”

I crack eggs while he’s busy, separating the yolks from the whites. It’s been my job ever since I was younger. Back then, by the time I finished with it, I was too lazy to do anything else. My parents would send me off with a smile and I’d sprawl on the couch and watch cartoons. Shiro always made sure to participate in the whole process which saved us when we needed to make it ourselves.

“What next?” Lance asks.

“Mix the matcha with one tablespoon hot water. Put it in the matcha powder and mix.”

He salutes and I continue with my work. Sugar goes into the egg yolks which soaks up the liquid. Next the matcha powder does the same, although less so with some water sticking it together. He raises the bowl with the matcha higher than I’m comfortable with over the one with the egg mixture. It splatters on the counter a bit, but I can’t find it in myself to care. Lance looks like he’s having the time of his life. Despite that, I still make a point to put the flour in myself at a reasonable height above the bowl.

I let him whip the egg whites while I add sugar to them. We used to have a machine, but it broke a long time ago. Lucky for me Lance doesn’t get tired easily. He scrapes all of it out and it plops out onto the batter mixture. I do most of the folding in, but Lance wants to try. He’s not as gentle, but he’s determined to do things right.

After getting the batter in the oven, I try to clean up as much as possible, but Lance is dedicated to getting flour, batter, and any other combination of ingredients on my face. I try to get him back and we just end up with powders of white and green all over ourselves. 

“You’ve got some batter on the right side of your mouth,” I say, wiping my thumb over my own face so he can find it. He misses a billion times before I sigh. “Right here.” Oh god I am such a cliche. This could only get worse if I decided to lick it off. Lance is looking at me almost expectantly. Nope. Not trying to decipher what that look means.

He laughs when I turn away and I focus on the oven. He talks about past Thanksgivings, both with Team Punk and his own family. I tell him about my own family’s Thanksgivings, with and without my parents. Once upon a time I would’ve felt anger or frustration thinking about it, but this feels good. I miss them, but sharing these memories doesn’t hurt too much anymore. 

I let Lance make the cream filling while I cut strawberries. After the cake cools I spread the cream over and add bits of strawberry to it. Rolling the cake is the worst part. I’m pretty convinced it’s going to crack. Shiro’s never been able to do it right and I sure as hell haven’t tried before. I get it almost perfect before it cracks a bit on the bottom. Oh well. I already knew nothing could compare to Hunk’s skills anyways.

It makes me feel a little empty without Shiro being here to make this with me. Last year, since he wasn’t here, I didn’t bother to at all. I’d feel wrong not having something to offer this year, so I can’t do the same. I’m sure it’s nowhere near as good as the ones my parents made or even the ones Shiro and I worked on, but it’s something.

Lance is eyeing the finished product dangerously and I swat at his shoulder. I gesture him to follow me and we finish getting everything together for both dinner and overnight. We don’t get on my bike and instead call an Uber. I’m not trying to die or worse drop the cake. The guy looks apprehensive when he sees the covered dessert in my hands, but doesn’t comment on it.

Lance talks to the driver the whole time, eventually getting the guy to smile and laugh, which he didn’t seem capable of before. I just watch, less in awe and more knowing. He can do this with anyone. I’m jealous, but I’m also happy to see him like this. He’s ridiculously infectious. I don’t have it in me to be stoic either.

  


* * *

  


“Hey guys! Happy Friendsgiving!” Hunk greets at the door. He moves out of the way to let us in and I can immediately smell the classic dishes. Turkey, warm cranberry sauce, buttered mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, and pies of all kinds. This is going to be way too insane for four people. I swear they don’t know how to do things halfway.

The table is set in hues of oranges and browns and reds which warm the room. The Holt’s home has always felt comfortable, but it’s even more so now. I put the swiss roll in the fridge next to some desserts I’m tempted to peek at. I don’t because I can feel Hunk’s stare at my back.

It’s almost like walking through a Harry Potter movie minus the magical appearance of food on the table. Although, Hunk is magical in his own right. Lance and Pidge are already staring hungrily at everything, but they’re waiting on Hunk’s word.

“Alright! Let’s eat everyone!” he declares, and they’re on it in a second.

We settle on walking around the table to pick up what we want ‘cause trying to reach over to each other is impossible. Between me and Pidge, it’s not an easy feat to pass the butter over the giant turkey set in the middle. 

Lance is already shoveling food in his mouth before he sits down. Pidge manages to hold herself back before diving in once she’s in her chair. Hunk, of course, is the calmest of all of us, but he still eats faster than I could’ve imagined possible. 

Everything melts in my mouth. Even with our mouths full, our laughter is unstoppable. Not a moment is spent in silence, and I love it this way. I’m the only one on the quiet side, but that’s because I can’t stop watching the scene around me.

The weirdest part of all of this is that it’s almost like having Shiro back. I mean, no one here is Shiro by any stretch of the imagination, but it feels like home. I’ve been here so many times that I’m familiar with every hallway. I know which faucets need an extra push to work and which seat on the couch has the best cushioning. I try to be subtle about looking at everyone around me and I have to make more effort to breathe than usual. Lance gives me a concerned look and mouths, “you okay?” and I nod. Pidge and Hunk catch us, but they only smile at each other, knowingly.

Pidge throws her head back, sighing in satisfaction. We’re still eating, but it’s more like picking at the food and occasionally putting it in our mouths.

“So,” she starts, “it’s family tradition in the Holt household to be gross and say what you’re thankful for. If I had to be subjected to it yesterday, you do too.” She pointedly looks at me.

“Ooh. I can go first,” Hunk says. “I’m thankful for Shay for making the best apple pie recipe ever so that I could make it for you guys.”

A chorus of awws come from all of us.

“I’m thankful for the scrap pile at AU. It’s saved me in projects a thousand times over,” Pidge says. 

“You’ve been saying this for years now. Does that actually count?”

“Shut it, Lance.”

“Before I shut up I have to do mine, right?” Pidge grumbles in submission. 

He puts his fingers to his chin and thinks for a second. “I’m thankful for Keith being such an easy target for mullet jokes.”

I scoff at that. Of course he couldn’t say something heartfelt. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him truly serious in front of these two. 

They all turn to look at me. I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. I say, “This.”

Pidge tilts her head and I clarify. “I’m thankful for this.”

Pidge and Hunk are these wild siblings that always want to know what’s going on. Your business is their business as long as they’re sure something interesting is happening. Pidge may be feisty, but she’s also the one who makes sure I’m included in everything we do. She makes sure to make everything special even when I don’t think it’s a big deal. Hunk is a worried mother hen who makes sure I’m eating enough and not getting sick. He’s also good at keeping me from getting anxious because I know he’s never judging me.

Lance is something else entirely. He’s not a sibling. He’s not a parent. He’s the person I want to reach out to even when there’s nothing wrong. I just want to be next to him as much as possible like I am now. 

I can barely imagine the world I lived in before. I don’t remember what it was like to be alone all the time because every single one of my days hasn’t allowed me to be. There’s always some new adventure to expect. There’s always some meme Pidge needs to send me or a recipe that Hunk swears I need to try. There’s always someone right there to make sure I don’t have to do things the way I did before.

I don’t know when I looked away from everyone, but I look back up and they’re all smiling at me. It’s soft and warm. It’s something I expect from Lance now, but never from Pidge or Hunk. I’ve never seen them look like that. I photograph everything. I’m not letting this go.

Everyone gets up from their seats and, before I know it, they’re surrounding me with a group hug. Pidge is on the inside squeezing my waist to the point where I can’t breathe. Hunk is on the outside holding tight, but he’s more gentle about it. He definitely gives the best hugs. 

Lance is hugging me from the front, partially concealing Pidge. His eyes are staring into mine, bright and beautiful like always. The only thing that could make this better is kissing him. I want to kiss him lightly all over. I want him to feel warm and wanted like he makes me feel. Even so, I’m content here. This is where I belong. I don’t ever want to be anywhere else but with them.

When everyone tears away Hunk is wiping his eyes. “Alright, who wants dessert?”

All hands are raised.

The table is cleared and then reset, desserts that aren’t just pies covering the table. It might be even more packed than dinner was. I don’t know where I’m gonna start and I don’t know how much I want. This is a dream and a nightmare.

“Hey,” Lance says from beside me. “How about you grab one of everything on that half of the table and I’ll do the same over here.”

I tilt my head. “Why would I only get stuff from half the table?”

“”Cause we’re sharing. Duh.”

I feel the rise of warmth in my cheeks. From his smirk I think he knows what he’s doing, but I doubt he actually understands anything at all. “You can’t eat all this by yourself?”

“Nope.” He pops the “p”. “I need quantity here because quality is no issue, and I need a right-hand-man to help me out here. Pidge and Hunk won’t let me anywhere near their plates. Trust me. I’ve tried.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine.”

I don’t take huge portions of everything and I can tell there’s going to be leftovers for weeks. I don’t mind though. Hunk’s food tastes good no matter what.

We all settle down into our respective spots and begin eating ourselves into a food coma. Lance reaches over to my plate at some point to try the swiss roll and he moans. Jesus. If I knew he’d make that sound because of my cake then I’d’ve made it sooner.

“Oh my god. Guys,” he says, mouth full. “Try this now.”

Both Pidge and Hunk cut a piece and bite in. Pidge gives a small hum in satisfaction and Hunk squeals.

“Keith, what the hell?” he questions. “Where have you been hiding this from us?” He wolfs down more. 

“It’s just a special thing, I guess. I don’t really make it that often.”

“Well, you should. Give me the recipe.”

I tap on my head. “All up here. Can’t give you my secrets.”

He groans and I laugh.

We’re all leaning back in our chairs by the end and I feel like dying. I’m never moving again. Nope. This is it. This is my time to go. White light take me now.

“Get up, losers. It’s Christmastime.”

We groan in unison when Lance calls for us to get up. I’m not sure where he gets the energy he does, but it sure as hell doesn’t exist in the rest of us. Wouldn’t be surprised if it comes out that he’s been on speed this entire time.

“Oh, no.” He pulls me up by my arm from my slumped-over state. “You’re not skipping out. It’s tradition.”

I blink slowly and rub my hand over my eyes. I stumble in Lance’s direction as he goes to get the Christmas boxes. There’s ten of them. Ten. I can’t look anymore. I was happy once. Luckily the tree is already in a stand, smelling up the entire room with its pine needles.

“Hunk, you’re on tree duty. Keith and Pidge, everything else downstairs. I’ll be outside.”

He leans over the couch to open a window. He runs outside and makes sure we can hear him. We definitely can.

We yell back and forth through grunts of effort, Pidge and I especially. Step stools can only do so much for us when the top of the walls are so high. It’s worth it, though, because embarrassing Lance stories are getting us through the night.

“He once tried to jump over a bench to hit on a girl and he hit the pavement so hard that she couldn’t stop laughing for ten minutes,” Pidge tells me. “Lance just sat there staring at his hands until she finally pulled the sad manchild up.”

“That was you!” he calls from outside.

“And you’ve never thanked me for it, have you?”

He grumbles. “I’m glad it didn’t work ‘cause apparently you’re a gremlin in a cute little tomboy disguise.”

Pidge mimics retching and I cackle, imagining his failed attempt.

We giggle at another tale of Hunk’s where Lance swung his arm back while talking and knocked his Victorian Literature professor to the ground. He still got an A, but that professor was mysteriously busy whenever he came in for office hours.

It doesn’t feel like forever before we’re done, but the clock says otherwise. Pidge, Hunk, and I admire out handiwork. Everything twinkles and shines, complimenting the fire roaring in the fireplace. The walls have silver and gold tinsel towards the top of the walls that was a pain for Pidge and I to attach. The table is set with fake Poinsettias as the centerpiece.

When my eyes catch the tree, they widen. It reminds me of the blue and silver tree in Lance’s photos, but instead it’s red, silver, and gold. It’s not intense, but it has this undeniable energy coming from it.

My favorite part, though, is the fireplace. The same wreath from the photo is up and there are candles along the top. Just under them are stockings, each with a name.

_Dad, Mom, Matt, Pidge, Hunk, Lance_

_Keith_

“Guys, come outside!” Lance’s voice pulls me out of my dreamy state.

We rush out and it’s gorgeous out here even before Lance switches the lights on. There’s more snow than usual and the color scheme is the same as inside. At some point they must’ve gotten a Santa sleigh and it’s headed by a few reindeer statues. Lance has a way of making over-the-top feel like the perfect amount. I have no doubt Pidge’s family is the talk of the neighborhood ‘cause there’s nothing in this world that can beat their house.

Lance has a wide grin on his face and I give a soft smile. I look to Pidge and Hunk expecting them to look smug, but they don’t. They’re reflecting the same smile I’m sure is on my own face.

Lance pushes me a little with his shoulder and doesn’t lose his expression. “Told you I’m good.”

I chuckle. “Never doubted you for a second.”

  


* * *

  


I’m teaching Lance some Christmas songs ‘cause he wants to show off in front of Pidge and Hunk for the holidays. Instead of strumming, he’s doing more plucking work. He’s not picking it up too well and I don’t know how best to alter his finger positioning.

“Okay, here, try this.” I pluck the strings myself. They come out clear instead of the hesitant mess he’s creating. As I do it I’m figuring out how to fix his fingers. This makes so much more sense.

“Okay, go.”

He stares at me and doesn’t move a muscle. I don’t know the last time I ever saw his eyes blank. I don’t even know if that’s ever happened.

“You okay?”

“Do you even pay attention to yourself?” he asks, finally.

“Most of the time? I guess?”

“Show me again, then.”

I repeat my earlier example and watch his expression. He’s getting more excited. Apparently something’s clicking in his head ‘cause that’s the only way I can explain it. He must’ve really needed me to watch someone else do it.

“Do you get it now?”

“Oh my god. Do you get it now?” He gestures up and down my body. What the fuck. Can’t he just spell it out for me? Do I look weird? Is there something on my guitar? Is—

Holy shit.

“How the fuck.”

“So, I’m guessing it’s time to figure out your setlist for Shiro, huh?”

I stare at my strings incredulously. “I guess so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update on my life since the last chapter:
> 
> Anime Expo killed me dead, but it was amazing and my cosplay actually looked acceptable. I met a friend I haven't seen in three years. I'm starting work at the end of this week and I'm semi-terrified. I've been developing a new fanfic that I need to avoid posting until after I'm done with this one (I'm so close!).
> 
> We're three chapters away from the end and I can't believe it. I've never finished a writing project this long before and I'm surprised I haven't given up together. I guess it helps when you really care about what you're writing about. I'm glad I started this.
> 
> Anyways, chapter 10 is in progress. Things are gonna get fluffier from here, my friends. So much fluff.


	10. Open Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Song:** _Nandemonaiya_ by RADWIMPS

* * *

_Misunderstandings from love_  
_Are the hardest to solve_  
_But the most satisfaction comes_  
_When love helps you solve yourself_

* * *

“I don’t even know what to play,” I complain.

Since we figured out that my fingers can play again, we’ve been trying to pick out songs for when Shiro shows up. So far, nothing comes to mind.

“What did you usually play back then?” Lance asks.

“I just practiced whatever I was working on at the time,” I reply. “It’s not like I had to prepare anything for him on purpose.”

“Well, what songs do you like right now?”

I scroll through the “Recently Played” section of my Spotify and find a couple albums that have solid guitar parts. They don’t feel right, though. It’s gotta be something more important to me. I can’t half-ass this. 

“I don’t know. I’ve got stuff in here, but nothing seems right.” My eye catches one of the songs Lance and I picked out together. Those are some of the only ones I’ve gotten especially excited about lately. It would be easy to work on those since I’ve heard them so much lately.

“What about the songs we picked for your book?” I ask. It feels weird not to ask him. Those moments together may be ours, but the songs are his in a way. Sharing something like this is something I would feel vulnerable about. 

A flash of discomfort crosses his face, but it’s gone as soon as it’s there. He thinks for a few seconds and I’m sure he’s gonna say no. That’s alright. I can’t force this. I’ll just do what we usually do: go through the entirety of Spotify before finding something appropriate.

Then he gives a crooked smile and his eyes twinkle. “Those are perfect. You sure you’re alright with pop-y stuff?”

I roll my eyes. “I got through listening to them ten thousand times. I’m sure I can handle a thousand more.”

He chuckles. “Alright, Emo Boy. Just wanted to protect your reputation.”

“I don’t give a damn ‘bout my reputation.”

He gawks at me. “I swear to God why does everyone miss your jokes? I’m pretty sure they think I’m lying about you being a sass master.”

“Maybe I like being the mysterious type.”

“You’re not all that mysterious.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

He positions his hands behind himself and leans back on them. “You act like you wanna be alone, but really you like being with other people. You always wear headphones because silence makes you think too much. You care so much about other people that you sacrifice your own health and sanity for them. You pretend love isn’t important, but you give more than anyone I’ve ever known. Even more than Hunk and that’s saying something.”

I nod. I can’t do anything else. He really thinks all that about me? I try to find a way to argue against it, but I’m drawing a blank. I don’t want him to be wrong. I want to see the world through his eyes. He makes me sound beautiful and I don’t know if anyone has ever made me feel that way.

He coughs and leans forward again, crossing his arms in front of himself. “Anyways, which song first?”

I add each song to a playlist for reference. I’m still reeling from his words and the whiplash is killing me, but there’s work to be done. I can confront all of this later. I have to confront my music problem first.

“I was thinking the _Treasure Planet_ one for sure. I’m sure Shiro knows it’s one of your favorites. It would make sense that you still play it from time to time.”

It’s been awhile since I played it, but I’ve listened to it so many times because of him that I probably know it by heart now. I’ll wing it for now and correct it later.

I hesitate after placing my fingers on the fretboard where the first chord is. It’s one thing to absentmindedly play a tiny part of a Christmas song, but it’s another to play a song I love on purpose. Not to mention that this is worse than _just singing_ in front of Lance. I haven’t played seriously for him yet and I don’t know if I can. I wish I could throw all of these doubts away, but right now I don’t have it in me.

His face falls and he rubs the back of his neck. He looks anywhere but at me. 

“Maybe later,” I say and run my fingers through my hair.

He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Still, I can tell he understands. Why does he look like that? Did I disappoint him? 

“No worries. It’s crazy we even got this far. Plus, you’re playing in the presence of royalty.” He adjusts his imaginary crown. I’m sincerely thinking about taking it back so he’ll stop making his stupid comments. Well, maybe not all that sincerely.

“If we’re not doing that, I kinda wanna take you somewhere,” Lance says.

“Where?”

“The beach.”

“Alright. Let me change and we can head out.”

I shoo him out of my room and change into a pair of boardshorts I bought not long after we went to the beach the first time. I knew I might have to go back there at some point and I figured I might as well look good. I also grab a hoodie. It is December. Even the sun in Altea can’t combat the cold completely year-round.

When I’m out, I swear he looks me up and down. The blush on his face is possible confirmation that I’m right. I smirk. “Leave your gawking to the tide pools.”

He gasps indignantly. “Just trying to memorize that pretty picture in my head.”

I roll my eyes, my own blush forming. 

The board shorts are damn uncomfortable while riding the bike, but I guess I can survive it for him.

  


* * *

  


We spend some time hopping between tide pools, but mostly we walk down the beach for a while. I needed this. The ocean air is giving me energy that I’ve been losing. Between work, the guitar, and my falling in love with Lance, I haven’t been able to settle down and relax for a while. Right now, I only have to worry about one of those things, but here I don’t feel as stressed about it.

I was terrified before about liking Lance, but something’s changed. Ever since he held my face in his hand, I’m noticing that he looks at me too long sometimes. Not that I mind. He also touches me more often than before and makes a point to get close to me. Maybe this is always the way he acted, but I’d like to think I’m more observant than that when it comes to him. He’s got me hoping. He’s got me feeling like maybe this isn’t impossible after all.

He walks into the shallow surf and I follow close behind. The sun is probably going to set in the next hour or so and it reminds me of the first time we came here. Since it’s the off-season, less people are out here. We also wandered away from the touristy areas which makes our tiny part of the world feel more closed-off. Being alone with him like this both calms my mind and speeds up my heart rate. Sometimes I think about saying, “fuck it,” and pulling him in for a kiss. I just don’t know if the timing’s right. I don’t want to make this messy.

I’m so lost in thought that Lance startles me when he places his hand on my shoulder.

“You okay there?”

I give a soft smile. God he looks good in this light. It’s like he’s meant to be down by the water. “Yeah. I think I’m great actually.”

“That’s not fair, you know.” His hand leaves my shoulder and he covers his eyes with his arm.

“What?”

“Just. You know.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I don’t.”

“Of course you don’t. You don’t see yourself like I do.”

His words from when we were in my room echo in my head. I wonder whether or not he’s being evil on purpose.

“Oh? And how is that?” I try to make it sound like I’m teasing, but really I think it sounds strangled.

“You’re just...God I don’t know.” He takes down his arm and looks up to the sky. “I’m always trying to sound so smooth and confident around everyone. Now, though, one look at you and I just…”

Holy fucking shit. No. No way. This isn’t happening right now. I mean, I had an idea that maybe he likes me back, but I didn’t expect him to say anything. How am I supposed to be content with nothing happening if he says something like this?

“You just what?” I dare to ask.

“Please don’t make me say it.”

“I have no idea what you’re thinking if you don’t say it out loud.” Come on. Don’t say never mind. Don’t stop here. I need to know. I need to figure out what I’m supposed to do here.

When he looks at me, he’s in pain. He’s trying to smile, but like earlier it’s not reaching his eyes.

“We need to stop meeting up alone.”

What.

“What?”

“I can’t do it anymore.”

What.

“Is it something I did?”

“No! Of course not. I just…”

What.

“What is it then?”

He takes a shaky breath. “Keith, I’m in love with you.”

_What._

He continues. “If we keep doing this it’s just gonna hurt. You said the other day that I make things weird and you’re right. I didn’t even know what I was doing until I did it. It was unconscious. Obviously I can’t stop my thoughts from bleeding into my actions.

“I’m not saying I want you gone completely, but I need to stop pretending that this doesn’t drive me insane. I just can’t anymore. I can’t.”

My brain is still short-circuiting on the “I’m in love with you” part.

“You’re in love with me?”

He scoffs. “I’m not saying it again.” More quietly, “I’m never saying it again.”

My brain is going a mile a minute and I can’t figure out what the hell to say even though it’s fucking obvious to any normal person. He loves me. He loves me. I’ve spent all this time agonizing and now I know he has too. Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t know what’s been going through his head. This can be more. We can be more. Holy shit this can be something if we want it to.

“This is the last time, okay?” 

I freeze. I forgot. I need to say something. Anything. He can’t leave. This can’t be the end. I can have my happy ending right now.

“Lance, I—”

His phone buzzes and he goes to pick it up. “That’s Hunk. He’s gonna take me back. I didn’t want to make you take me home after this. I don’t think I could handle it either. I’m not trying to make this weirder than it has to be.”

“I don’t want this,” I plead.

It’s not enough. “I gotta go.”

“Don’t.”

“I’ll see you.”

He walks away and I just...watch. I just fucking watch as everything I’ve ever wanted from the person I would love someday—oh God I love him—leaves. He loves me. He told me. Now I’m just standing here doing nothing about it.

It’s only once he’s out of my sight that I go to wipe my eyes, but there’s nothing there. Oh. This isn’t good. This is bad. I’m an idiot. Now how is he gonna believe I feel the same way? I should’ve said it then. Now he’s just gonna think I’m saying it to keep him close. I screwed up. Again.

I collapse and stare at the water meeting my middle. I fucked this all up.

My brain fuzzes out and all I can hear is static. Then hyperventilation. This time, I have nothing at all; no headphones and no Lance. All I have are the sounds of seagulls and waves to keep me company, and I can barely hear any of it. I don’t get up until the sun is gone and no doubt everyone else.

I did this. I always do this. I fucked everything up again.

I don’t remember the ride home. I don’t remember getting in the shower. I don’t remember getting my pillows and blankets to sleep on the couch. I don’t remember putting on my headphones to drown it out.

I do remember his face when he told me he can’t see me anymore.

I’ll never be able to fix that image, that moment.

I never do fall asleep. I keep having to pick a new album because the one I’m listening to ends before I know it. Sometimes I accidentally play one of the songs we picked together and almost chuck my phone across the room. I don’t have the energy for it, though, and instead press the “next” button and hope for the best.

I check the clock a few times, but eventually I can’t look anymore. It doesn’t matter what time it is. Things aren’t gonna change no matter how much time goes by.

Around when the sun starts filtering through my blanket, I get a text.

Shiro.

**From: Shiro**  
**hey man. i may or may not be in altea right now.**

**From: Shiro**  
**surprise!**

**From: Shiro**  
**mind picking us up?**

Oh my God are you fucking kidding me?

Wait, what does he mean “us”?

**From: Keith**  
**Us?**

**From: Shiro**  
**oh yeah. i brought my girlfriend down. i told you about allura right?**

**From: Keith**  
**You kinda went AWOL for a while so this is the first I’m hearing about it.**

**From: Shiro**  
**oh shit. i’m sorry man. but she’s great. i think you’ll like her.**

**From: Keith**  
**What airline did you take?**

**From: Shiro**  
**i’ll send you the details.**

I force myself into actual clothing and grab the only other set of keys in the apartment. They’re for Shiro’s car and it probably makes more sense to use it, but I don’t like to when he’s away. I prefer my bike regardless.

I don’t look at the guitar the whole time. I don’t know how I’m gonna do this anymore. Sure, I can play now, but how am I supposed to get into it when I can’t touch the songs we found together. The fact is, though, I have to do this. With or without him, I can’t let Shiro down. I have to let that keep me going. I can’t stop moving no matter how much I wish I could.

I plug in the address of the airport into Google Maps and head out. The airport is about a half hour away without traffic and it’s calm on the road. It’s early enough in December that not too many people are traveling for the holidays yet. I don’t know why Shiro’s early, though. He wasn’t supposed to be back for a week or so. 

I recheck the information Shiro sent me and look out for the sign for his airline. I miss it the first time and have to circle back, but I’m lucky it’s not too busy. 

I would go in to see him, but I don’t feel like being near people in general. I’m sure I look like shit even without looking in a mirror. I don’t need other people’s stares telling me the same thing.

I idle in the car by the pick-up zone until I see a familiar face and a not-so familiar face next to him.

I get out of the car begrudgingly. I know Shiro can handle his own luggage, but he wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t get out to hug him.

He opens his arms wide when I emerge, letting go of his suitcase. I walk into him and settle on giving him a weak hug. At least, I thought about it, but instead I hold him tight. It’s been too long and he’s Shiro. Nothing could ruin him being home. Nothing. God I needed him to come home.

“How are you doing, little bro?”

“I’m good as I’ll ever be,” I reply, giving a smile I hope is genuine. It feels like it.

He steps back from me and for a moment when he notices my face, he has a questioning look. I shake my head and he drops it for now. Instead he directs my attention to the stranger beside him.

I’ve never seen a girl so beautiful in my life. Her dark skin is complemented by silver hair with a slight lilac tint to it. Her thick curls roll down the length of her back and end at her waist. I can’t imagine how much shampoo and conditioner she goes through in a month. Her unnaturally captivating eyes of blue have hints of what I’m positive is pink. I’ll have to ask Shiro later if she wears contacts.

“Keith, I want you to meet Allura. Allura, Keith.”

She reaches out a hand and smiles politely at me. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Oh God she’s British. Only my brother would manage to get with a girl with this level of attractiveness. 

“You too.”

I’d be angry at Shiro for dumping this on me when I was looking forward to having him to myself, but I can’t manage anything more than slight irritation. I’m just happy he’s home. I’ll take what I can get.

I shove my hands in my pockets and stare at the ground.

“Oh, Allura, let me help you put that in the back,” Shiro says, giving me a look that means there’s gonna be a talk later.

“I’ve got it. Thank you, dear.” I flinch. I need her to feel less like the person who could potentially marry my brother and more like a temporary person who happens to be more than his friend.

The car ride would be silent if Shiro hadn’t turned on the radio to a local J-Pop station. Before we moved, I didn’t believe non-English radio stations were in anything but Spanish.

Ahhhhh.

Shiro and Allura whisper words to each other in the back seat and I try to drown it out by focusing on the lyrics of the music. Jesus Christ can every J-Pop song _not_ be about being in love? 

“So, how are things, Keith?” he asks. That’s not a question. That’s a demand for information.

“I’m fine. Work is work.”

“It’s not interfering with school, is it?”

I freeze. Shit. I forgot. I’m supposed to be in school. Alright. Be on guard. He can’t know. I won’t let him know.

“No, _Dad._ ” I deadpan. “I’m handling it. I mean, I don’t have a normal sleep schedule, but that’s the usual college experience.”

He harrumphs. “Explains why you look so tired. It’s finals week, right?”

I try to think about when finals started when I went there. When I’m sure it’s this week I tell him so.

“We’ll try not to bug you too much for now then. Gotta make sure you pass.” He leans forward. “Speaking of which, how’s the guitar?”

Oh God I can’t even think about the damn thing right now. “It’s great. Seriously the best gift ever. You shouldn’t have spent that much on me, though.” My smile is weak and I can tell he isn’t convinced. Yet another thing he’ll lecture me on later.

“I don’t mind. Had to get something for the prodigal musician.”

Allura leans forward as well, her face almost pressed up alongside his. “Shiro will _not_ stop talking about it. I’m dying to hear you play.”

Wonderful. An audience of two when I barely want an audience of one.

Well, maybe I want an audience of one person who isn’t in the car right now.

Stop it. Please.

“Sure.”

When we’re home, I pull Allura’s bags out of the trunk. I don’t know how they didn’t end up in overweight baggage ‘cause man is this thing heavy. She lifted this like it weighed nothing. I want to complain because I know Allura can handle it herself, but Shiro would never let me live it down if I’m not polite.

We drop everything in the room on Shiro’s side and leave Allura to examine our tiny living room. Shiro takes the short minute alone with me to confront the attitude he’s been picking up on.

“What’s going on? You look like shit.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

“I’m serious.” I shrug and he sighs. “Look, I know I didn’t tell you about her and I’m sorry. I just didn’t think you’d be this mad about it.”

“I’m not mad about it. She seems nice.” It’s not a lie. Not really.

He looks me over. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I sigh. “I’m fine. Look, I would love to stay and talk about this, but I have work soon and I can’t miss my shift. You guys probably wanna settle in anyways.”

He tilts his head, ready to launch into a barrage of questions, but he knows better than to get in the way of school or work. Still, it didn’t take him as long to give up as usual. He must’ve matured since meeting Allura ‘cause I don’t remember the Shiro that could easily handle letting things go when he thinks he can dig the truth out.

“You’ll be around for dinner, right?” he asks.

“Yeah, sure. Going out or staying here?”

“Going out. Gotta show her the Shiro/Kogane version of Altea. 

I chuckle. “AKA we have nothing in the apartment and you don’t wanna go shopping.”

“Bingo.”

It’ll be a bit of a culture shock for her. She’s so used to her own version of life here.”

“Wait, she’s from here? I thought you met her out there?”

“She’s part of a similar program and she happened to be one of two students from AU that came out there, me being the second one.”

Okay. That’s actually a relief. She isn’t planning on keeping him in a separate country. Once he’s done, he’ll come back. Probably. Hopefully. Please.

“Well, okay then. I guess I’ll see you when I get back.”

Once upon a time nothing could damper me being stoked that Shiro was home early. Now I have to deal with Allura, Lance, and the damn guitar and suddenly this doesn’t seem like good tidings. Best. Holiday. Ever.

  


* * *

  


Work is relatively quiet considering those three aren’t around and I miss them more than usual. I can’t help thinking about the idea that maybe eventually they won’t show up anymore. They were Lance’s friends first and if he doesn’t want to be around me anymore, maybe they’ll decide the same to make things easier.

As I stack books, I think about the shit show that’s going to be Christmas. Shiro got invited by Matt and there’s no way Pidge would accept me not showing up. I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle this. Shiro’s gonna be there, but so is Lance.

Wait. Oh shit. We still have a little over a week before Christmas and I’m supposed to be taking my finals. I need to be out of the apartment pretending to be on campus for a week. I need a fake schedule and I can’t leave my guitar behind ever. I could try Pidge’s, but no doubt she’s crazy busy. I could try Hunk and Lance’s, but I’m not that much of a masochist. I don’t have anywhere that I can take the guitar and I still need to practice before I start playing in front of Shiro. There’s nowhere to go.

Unless.

I sigh, granting me a sympathetic look from a customer in the same row as me. I need somewhere to practice and I need somewhere to go where I can bring my guitar without it being weird. I would try to find an excuse as to why I can’t go there, but there’s nowhere else that works. 

Practice rooms at AU it is.

  


* * *

  


Going to Altea’s campus for the first time since I got kicked out is strange. It’s almost like I never left. The buildings covered in glass windows still tower above everything, creating shadows at all times of day. The quad is full of people lounging around on the grass with friends and dogs alike. Everyone holds a coffee cup in hand and complains about how hard their final essay is going to be. Everything is the way it’s always been. I’m the only one who’s changed.

I almost crash into a group of people when I walk across the street to the arts center where the practice rooms are. It’s only after I’m past them that I realize I _know_ some of them. They were in my classes. I doubt they remember me anymore, but I did see them every day, so at least I recognize them. I guess not talking to people at all for two semesters doesn’t grant you any friends.

I hop from room to room, peeking through tiny windows, trying to find an open spot. Since it’s finals time, everyone is preparing their pieces. I wonder how many of them procrastinated. I know I used to.

I get lucky and duck into one open room at the end of the hall. The person next door is banging on the piano keys, but I learned to tune that out a long time ago.

Or I thought I did. 

I attempt to play some of the songs Lance and I picked out together, but they fall apart as soon as they start. At some point I start tearing at the strings and screeching a wonderful rendition of _Deck the Halls_. Might as well considering this just isn’t working. None of this is working. I hate not having him with me. It’s throwing me off. I haven’t reverted completely and I know somehow I’ll do this without him, but I don’t want to. I want to see him.

I stop and stare at my reflection in the dirty mirror in the corner. I don’t look like me anymore. When was the last time I looked like this? When was the last time I thought I was gonna be alone?

I check my phone and decide it’s a good time to head out. I’ve been gone for a believable length of time. Shiro won’t have a problem.

Before I can even get to my bike, I run into Pidge and Hunk who are coming out of the Alfor building, known for the sciences.

“Woah, Keith?” Hunk calls.

I give a small wave and a sheepish grin. I don’t know why I’m embarrassed. I just am.

Oh wait. I know. _Because you fucked up with their best friend._

“What are you doing here?” Pidge asks without malice.

Hunk sputters. “Not like you’re not allowed to be here! We know that you don’t go here anymore so it’s weird that you’re here. I mean, not like weird-weird. Just...weird.”

Rambling. Yet another thing I’m missing about Lance.

“Are you looking for Lance?” Something in Pidge’s eyes is smoldering. I don’t know if she’s planning to mess with us or if she’s pissed off. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s both.

“Uh. No?” 

“Oh. That’s a shame. Well, he’s not here today anyways. He’s at work.”

Oh God. How am I ever supposed to go to the Planetarium again? It’s not my place anymore. I don’t get that access to him anymore.

“I should go,” I say. As I turn to leave, I feel a heavy hand on my shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“For starters, you look like you haven’t slept in years. As for the second reason, you know why.”

I shrug. I guess he told them. “I told you guys nothing was gonna happen. Now it definitely won’t.”

Pidge puts her head in her hands and groans loudly, attracting attention from other students. “You two are such fucking idiots oh my God. Can you please figure out your shit so you can make out and feel better?!”

“What am I supposed to do?” I snap. “Sorry. Just, I don’t know what to do here. He’s done with me as you’ve already heard. I can’t do anything.”

“That’s quitter talk and you know it.”

“Buddy,” Hunk starts, “you know that he’ll listen to you if you just find a way to get him to sit down and listen. I know that sounds impossible with the way he is, but you’ve gotten him to do it before and I bet you can do it again.”

I give a wry smile, unconvinced. “Thanks, Hunk. Pidge. Anyways, I really have to go. Shiro’s waiting at home and will freak if I don’t show up before sundown.”

“Wait, Shiro’s back?!” Pidge cries. “Oh man do I need embarrassing stories about little Keith. Bring him over immediately.”

“His girlfriend’s here so I think we’re spending time as a ‘family unit’ for the most part. Plus, don’t you have finals to worry about? Shiro can wait until Christmas.”

Ugh. Christmas.

“Fine, fine. _But!_ You can’t intervene when he tells me the stories. I want all of them. Every. Single. One.”

I chuckle. “You’ll have blackmail material for years.”

They wave me off and I head back home, hoping Shiro won’t be there to lecture me to the sun and back about something or other.

  


* * *

  


I don’t find Shiro. What I actually find when I get home is Allura sitting on our couch like it’s her own home. She’s got a couple notebooks set beside her with another on the coffee table. Pens and pencils are strewn all over. I won’t be surprised if there’s a whole treasure trove when she leaves.

She looks like she’s doing online shopping for clothes on her laptop. From the looks of the logos on the websites she jumps between, that stuff looks expensive.

She turns when she hears me come in and beams at me. I don’t know what reason I gave her to warrant that reaction, but she beams nonetheless. “Keith, welcome home.”

That is so fucking weird to hear, but at the same time, maybe it’s kinda nice almost.

“Hey, Allura.”

I go to put my guitar away, but she calls me back. “Wait.” I turn back around. “So I know it’s weird with me being here and all—” I try to deny it, but she waves me off. “It’s weird. I know. I just don’t want to make you feel like you can’t talk to me at all. I’m not really asking to be the greatest of friends, but I do love your brother, so...okay maybe I’m asking to be the best of friends. I can’t help it! Shiro’s accounts paint you as such an interesting person.”

I laugh in disbelief. This is the girl my brother chose. From what I can tell about her, she has incredible fashion sense, her looks are that of a supermodel, she doesn’t need help carrying her luggage while Shiro definitely does, she’s weird enough to welcome me home even though we’re not related, and she’s so freaking honest. 

“Did I say something wrong?” she asks, tilting her head.

I swear to God. There’s no way to not like her. 

“It’s weird, yeah,” I confess. “He’s never brought a girlfriend around before and I’ve never talked to them for more than two seconds.”

“Well, I’m sure there’s a way we can get to know each other.” I see her look back-and-forth between me and my guitar case. I touch my hand to it in defense.

“I don’t know about that…”

She grins. Something about it reminds me of Pidge. “You know you want to.”

Apparently she’s just as pushy. “I mean it’s not like I really play for people.”

“Yes, you do. Shiro told me.”

“You believe everything Shiro tells you?”

“More or less. Now play.”

“Allura.”

“Keith.”

We stare each other down, but I know I’m not gonna win this one. Something tells me that if I don’t do it, she’ll find a way to make me pay for it. God my brother is so screwed. I’m actually happy for him.

“Fine, but don’t expect much.”

I pull the guitar out and settle myself on the floor next to the couch. She leans over the arm of it and looks down at me in anticipation, her hands clasped together in front of her. Nothing Lance and I picked out is gonna work. I have to pick something that has nothing to do with all that. Maybe something that isn’t in English, or Spanish, for that matter.

I sigh and start remembering a song I heard from an anime movie. I thought the lyrics were sweet and the acoustics were gorgeous. I’m nervous, though. The first part is singing acapella.

I take a deep breath and count on the inside. _Five, six, seven, eight._

As much as I didn’t want to play something involving Lance, this song might as well be as bad as the others. It’s a love song. How could I forget that? At least Allura won’t know. No one will. These words are mine alone.

I sing stronger on the choruses and bring it down a bit on the verses. It’s slow and sweet and I find myself swaying with the tempo. It’s warm and safe here. Allura doesn’t know me and there’s no one else here to judge me. This is the only way I’ll ever get to say how I feel about Lance. I’ll never get to say it to him, so I should at least say it to myself.

“君のいない世界にも  
何かの意味きっとあって  
でも君のいない世界など  
夏休みのいない八月のよう.”

Eventually I finish the song and I’m just tired. I feel something akin to healing, but I just wanna sleep everything off for the rest of my life.

“So, who’s the boy?”

“What?”

“Who’s the boy?” she repeats and wiggles her eyebrows.

“Why do you think there’s a boy?”

“I can speak several languages, Keith, and Japanese is one of them.”

Thank you _so much_ Shiro for being the best brother ever and warning me about your girlfriend’s ability to hear me even when I’m speaking a language I thought no one else around me could understand.

“It’s just a song.”

She touches my arm. “I know what someone in love looks like.”

I drop my head and look at the ground. “Well, I screwed it up with him. There’s nothing I can do about it now.”

“I think there’s always a way to solve things. You just have to figure out what your love language is.”

I laugh a little and look into her eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Now! Play more for me.”

“Allura, no.”

“Allura, yes.”

I pick stupid songs that mean nothing in particular and we crack up as we sing everything in the most outrageous accents possible. We don’t notice Shiro standing in the doorway watching us with the softest smile he’s ever given.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. I didn't plan to have so much angst this chapter, but there it is.
> 
> So I've been writing this at the same time as chapter 11 and honestly this is so stressful because I'm almost there and I don't want it to end. I'm planning on releasing it before season 7 comes out and I've already got the first draft done. God it's crazy.
> 
> I'm going to keep from writing anything too sentimental here. The story isn't over yet. Chapter 11 will come out in the next week and I'm so glad for the people who have found joy in this story. It's an honor to share something that means a lot to me.
> 
> Oh! Almost forgot. The Japanese that Keith says roughly translates to:
> 
> _"Even if you're not around in this wide world_   
>  _Of course it surely would have some kind of meaning_   
>  _But if you weren't around in this crazy world_   
>  _It would be like the month of August without summer vacation"_
> 
> Something like that anyways.


	11. Synesthesia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Song:** _Synesthesia_ by Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness

* * *

_Reds and blues_  
_And other hues_  
_Intertwine your voice with mine_  
_I’ve heard that purple is quite divine_

* * *

I don’t remember the last time I bought gifts for anyone besides Shiro, but I commend people who shop for their entire family ‘cause this is intense.

We didn’t wait until Christmas Eve, but the shopping street we’re on is swarming with people. Tinsel adorns street lamps and Christmas lights are on every surface possible. The smells of hot chocolate and hot cider come from a small table set off to the side of the walkway. We pass by a bakery and the scent of vanilla extract fills my nose.

Now if only I could enjoy all this without panicking about presents.

“I’m seriously getting everyone bath sets or some shit. This is ridiculous.” I push past a woman carrying far too many shopping bags for her own good.

“Keith, it’s fine,” Shiro tries to assure me. “You’ve known them for how long?”

I think back to when I first met Lance and subsequently the rest of the group. It’s been about three months now and it’s weird to think about. Three months ago I went from lazing around my apartment all day with nothing to do except go to work or the observatory. Now I’m suffocating in a crowd frantically shopping for six people I consider friends.

“They all got me stuff for my birthday and every single one of them must’ve invaded my head because everything was perfect. How am I supposed to top a customized cookbook, headphones built from scratch, _Treasure Planet_ , a rough draft of a novel, and a guitar I’ve wanted for _eight years_?”

Shiro chuckles. “Okay, fair point. He wraps his arm around my shoulder and I lean into it a little. “You just have to breathe for a second. You know them. Just focus on them as you walk and it’ll come to you.”

I groan. If only it were that easy.

I try to separate each one of them in my head, but they’re blending into each other, making it impossible to think straight. I settle on creating an order to thinks instead of trying to make them individuals in a group. I can work through one at a time instead of all at a time. I’ll start with Allura and follow it up with Matt, Hunk, Pidge, Lance, and then Shiro. He has to be last otherwise he’ll peek. He’s always had a bad habit of checking for gifts before they’re wrapped. I’ve since learned to wrap everything the second I get home while in a locked bedroom.

I don’t know Allura all that well, so it’ll have to be something a little less personal. I could ask Shiro, but I wanna do this right. She seems to like things she can keep rather than eat, so there’s that. She’s really into fashion, too, so maybe something she can wear. Shit. I don’t know her size. She also has this sparkle to her that comes from her eyes, her nails, her accessories, her—

Got it!

I abandon Shiro and leave him to do his own shopping. There’s a small store with handmade jewelry and I look through the selection of artfully placed pieces. My eyes fall on a pair of magenta teardrop earrings that are slightly translucent. I hold them up to the light and it looks like they’re glowing. I heard somewhere that blue eyes are supposed to go well with purple/pink hues, so this should be perfect. Hopefully Shiro will forgive me for giving his girlfriend jewelry.

“Five more to go,” I grumble after taking back the gift-wrapped present from the cashier.

I could go get Shiro, but I wanna go this myself. It’s important that I give them all something only I chose. I want them to be able to appreciate something and know that I could make them happy.

I wander into a store with interesting shirts and sift through the racks. I find a shirt with a robot on it that says “You’re my favorite human” and grab it immediately. Matt would think this is stupidly funny. I also find one for Pidge, but this one instead has a robotic green lion. I think I remember seeing it on that TV show that’s always playing when we’re at her place.

I pay and move on, hopping between stores filled with people that would be considered underdressed for the weather if it were true winter weather. I’m starting to have fun out here. The more I look, the more I realize that I know my friends and what will make them happy.

There’s a store with cookware and I pick up a cast iron skillet that’s divided into three sections. Being able to cook three things at once is something I’m sure Hunk would love. I doubt he wants to make a complicated meal every night considering he works in a restaurant. It’s nice to do things quickly.

For my sanity, I have to skip over Lance for now. I’ll get Shiro’s gift first. He’s not here anyways so I don’t have to worry about his vices.

It’s hard to shop for Shiro because he never wants anything. He acts like he doesn’t care about gifts and would much prefer us to just hang out together. It may be partially true, but I’m not skimping out on him after what he got for me.

I enter a cramped bookstore and find the science section. He’s always been a huge nerd when it comes to science. He may think he’s a true cool guy, but I know how he really is. I spent enough nights trying to shut out his musing about how someday there might be a solar flare that reaches up far enough to kill us all. Some nights I didn’t get a lot of sleep.

I pick a couple books off the shelf that interest me, but the one I think he’d like the most is _Women in Science: 50 Fearless Pioneers That Changed the World_. He’s complained to me on more than one occasion that he feels like his education is limited when they don’t talk about female scientists. He did it more when he was an undergrad, but he’s still a major feminist. I’m sure his girlfriend would appreciate it as well. They can enjoy it together.

Now Lance.

I take a break outside and get a paper cup of free apple cider. It warms me up significantly despite it being no lower than 60 degrees outside.

I don’t know what to get him. He doesn’t want to see me, so I don’t know if I can get him something sentimental. He didn’t give me any ideas or a list, so I don’t know what he actually wants right now. All I want is to fix things, so maybe something that can do just that is what I need, but what is it? I’m pretty sure you can just fix things with a gift.

_“You just have to figure out what your love language is.”_

Oh my God. Allura is officially my favorite person in the world right now. She knew even before I did what I should give him. Alright. I’ve got this. It’s perfect.

I call Shiro and we meet up.

“You get everything you wanted?” He uses two fingers to open up one of the gift bags. I pull them away and tie the tops together as tight as possible. Shiro feigns helpfulness and tries to do the same, but I move backwards, grinning.

“Nuh uh. Not this year. You’re waiting like everyone else.”

He pouts. “Fine.”

Sometimes I forget about how much of a kid he is. When your brother raises you, it’s hard to look at him as anything else but a surrogate parent. He never really got the chance to be a stupid college student because he had to take care of a stupid high school student. I think he needed to get out of here. He needed a chance to think about himself more.

On our way home, I text Pidge. Since Christmas is at her house, I’m gonna need her help.

 **From: Keith**  
**I need a favor.**

 **From: Pidgeon**  
**Sure**

 **From: Pidgeon**  
**What is it :?**

 **From: Keith**  
**Well, Lance’s Christmas present is kinda special and I need to be alone with him. Do you think you could lend me your room during the party for a little bit?**

 **From: Pidgeon**  
**God I don’t even want to know what you’re trying to do in there**

 **From: Keith**  
**Yeah. I’m not trying to die, so that’s not what I was thinking.**

 **From: Pidgeon**  
**As long as you don’t mess with my stuff**

 **From: Pidgeon**  
**Or partake in illicit activities**

 **From: Pidgeon**  
**Then sure**

 **From: Keith**  
**Why do you have to say it like that? It’s not even “illicit.”**

 **From: Pidgeon**  
**It is in my house**

 **From: Keith**  
**Still, you’re the best.**

 **From: Pidgeon**  
**Can I at least know what you’re planning**

 **From: Keith**  
**I’ll tell you after, but it really does have to be a surprise.**

 **From: Keith**  
**I trust you, but I don’t want him getting any vibes. He’s kinda not okay with being alone with me right now and I don’t want him to bolt.**

 **From: Pidgeon**  
**What did you do**

 **From: Keith**  
**I didn’t. Trust me. He’s running on assumptions and, as you know, things get kinda messy when he does.**

 **From: Pidgeon**  
**Don’t they always**

 **From: Keith**  
**True.**

 **From: Pidgeon**  
**I want full details afterwards**

 **From: Pidgeon**  
**I don’t have to explain to you what full details doesn’t entail right**

 **From: Keith**  
**That’s not happening.**

 **From: Keith**  
**And fortunately for you, I understand that not telling you is not an answer.**

 **From: Pidgeon**  
**You’re damn right**

I snort and Shiro peeks at me from the driver’s seat. I glance back and he turns his focus back to the road at the same time, a small smile on his face.

I like this Shiro. This is exactly why I won’t tell him. Maybe someday it’ll be safe and we can laugh about how stupid this all was, but I think for now it’s something that doesn’t need to be confronted.

After all, he doesn’t have anything here to worry about. For once, I’m sure about that.

  


* * *

  


Matt greets us at the door with reindeer ears on his head. “Shiro!”

They give each other a bear hug and shove each other through the hallway and into the living room. Allura and I follow close behind.

“How’s life across the pond?” Matt asks.

Shiro attempts a British accent. “It’s quite charming, thank you for asking.”

Allura giggles and rolls her eyes.

“Oh, right.” Shiro doesn’t switch out of the accent. “Allow me to introduce my darling Allura. She may seem like a true Englishwoman, but she is an Altean through and through.”

Allura curtsies dramatically. Matt’s eyes go wide and I can see him trying not to say something inappropriate. He swallows it down and instead reaches a hand out. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

She shakes it. “The honor is all mine.”

Matt is on the verge of swooning. Pidge sidles up next to him, attracting all attention to her. 

“So, Shiro,” she starts. “Since you’re back, there are a couple things I need to ask you about Keith’s childhood.”

“Oh, come on,” I groan. “Can you start this later?”

“Nope,” Pidge and Shiro say at the same time. Traitors.

“Do you want anything to drink, guys?” Matt calls as he makes his way to the kitchen.

“Nothing for me, thanks.” Allura and Shiro opt to follow him and see what they have.

I almost take my usual spot on the couch when I see Lance on the ground eyeing me and the guitar on my back. His face is contorted in pain and I hate it. I wanted to wait until after we exchange presents, but I’m not gonna be able to wait if he looks like that all night.

I make eye contact with Pidge and nod. She nods back and gives a devilish grin. She starts to mouth something, but I turn away before I can figure out what it is.

Here goes nothing.

“Lance?” He looks like he’s about ready to run. “Can you come with me for just a second?”

His mouth form a small “o” and I think he’s gonna stay put. I don’t care where I have to do this. At this point I’d do it for him anywhere.

“Okay,” he says, finally.

I resist the urge to grab his wrist as I lead him up to Pidge’s room. I’m going to owe her a million times over in the future if this works out, but it’s worth it.

I push into the room and motion for Lance to sit on the floor. At first he stands in the doorway and scans the room, but he soon complies. I shut the door behind us, cancelling out the noise from downstairs.

For the first time since the other day, it’s just the two of us. I can see he’s getting fidgety—pulling at his jacket sleeves and shifting his position to get comfortable—and I wish I wasn’t the one making him this way. Maybe—no—I’m _going_ to fix this. I know that what I have to give him will make things right again.

I sit on the bed and undo the zippers of my guitar case. I put the strap over my shoulders and I see his eyes widen. “Wait, have you already played for Shiro?”

“Yeah, but I thought it was only fair to give you something better,” I say. I’m determined. I can feel the blush crawling up my neck, but this is a good feeling. Things are gonna be alright.

“Keith,” he pleads and how I so want to give in to that voice.

“Just listen.”

He gives a small sigh and I take that as my cue to start. The song isn’t easy in the beginning because the majority of the sounds are electronic in the original, but when the lyrics start up, it settles into a simple flow. I open my mouth and deliver what only music can explain.

 _“I saw pictures of the space shuttle, North America at night._  
_I can almost see my house, I can almost see the rest of my life._  
_Now my mother’s in the hospital and my friends are in the news_  
_Collecting trophies for the songs they wrote when we lived in the shadow of the moon.”_

I look up for the brief reprieve I have from singing. His eyes are transfixed on me and they’re clouded over. I don’t know how much of that is a good sign, but I have to keep going. He’s the reason I learned to keep going. It’s going to be okay. I’m gonna make everything okay.

For him.

 _“Guess I never made a gold record and I’ve never been to Mars,_  
_But I’ve traveled ‘round this world shooting fireworks at fallin’ stars._  
_And my father’s got a decent job, I hear he’s finally pulling through._  
_There’s more to life than singing songs we write when we are in the shadow of the moon.”_

I know I haven’t done anything special in my life. I know I’m nowhere near the person I wish he could’ve met, but I don’t care anymore. I want him and he wants me back. That has to be enough. It is enough.

I build, my strumming getting stronger. I only stop for a moment when I sing the first words of the chorus, but the rest is pure power, like I was holding in a thousand things and just these words and chords could set that free.

 _“And I see colors_  
_When I hear your voice._  
_Grab your wings they’re putting gravity on trial._  
_I see colors._  
_I don’t hear the noise_  
_Because we’re only flyin’ for a while._  
_Because we’re only flyin’ for a while.”_

I move into the next verse, my favorite. It’s my way of showing him how dreamlike my time with him is like. How he’s someone that keeps me calm and comfortable, but constantly amazed. There’s passion, but there’s also a serenity to him that I never knew I needed until that day he first saw me fall apart.

 _“I saw this picture of my niece twisting high above the narrow beam_  
_And my brother looked so proud like he woke up in this perfect dream._  
_And I’ve known you all my life, but I knew you long before then too._  
_Let’s go dancing to the songs we wrote when we lived in the shadow of the moon.”_

I’m into the next chorus, but there’s something new. I can feel it. I see the blush rising in his cheeks and I know. I look him the eyes while I sing. I won’t look away anymore. I won’t let him either.

 _“And I see colors_  
_When I hear your voice_  
_Grab your wings they’re putting gravity on trial_  
_I see colors._  
_I don’t hear the noise_  
_Because we’re only flyin’ for a while.”_

I won’t let him miss these words.

 _“I could love you in the fallin’ rain._  
_Like many things this is a storm we’re meant to ride._  
_Like synesthesia aboard a stalling plane_  
_It’s like we’re only flyin’ for a while.”_

I start to play the bridge, but he stands, tears running down his cheeks. I stop and stare. Oh shit. Is he actually gonna run? He looks like he’s gonna run. Oh fuck. How the hell did I think this was gonna work?

To my surprise, he lifts the guitar over my head and places it on the ground. “What are you—”

He pushes me over so I’m laying flat on the bed. His hands are on both sides of my head. I’d be scared that he’s going to freak out on me, but I can see his eyes. I can barely see those blues because his pupils are blown wide.

“I’m gonna kiss you now.” He lets himself onto the bed more so that he’s straddling me. He cups my face in his hand and I melt into it. How long have I waited for him to do this again? There’s less uncertainty in this touch than last time.

He leans over and brings his face close to him, his breath fanning across my face. For someone who claimed he was going to kiss me, he’s taking his time. He looks to my eyes for permission and I run my hand along the back of his neck, pulling him in the last few inches.

At first it’s only a brushing of lips, so faint I might mistake it for nothing at all. He moves closer and his lips brush a little more, this time reminding me that this isn’t a dream. He’s here. He’s right up against me. I’m impatient, though. I pull him forward and crash my lips against his. It’s a moment before we’re apart again, but in the next moment he’s moving his lips against mine, smooth lips meeting chapped one. Everything is getting sloppier, but holy hell this is probably the best I’ve ever felt while kissing someone. Warmth fills me up as he licks my lips, asking for entry. I grant his wishes and his tongue pushes in further. My head is fuzzy, but in the good way for once. I can’t question any of this because there’s nothing to question. He loves me and I…

I push him away a tiny bit and he whines. I have to rectify that frown on his face. 

“I love you,” I whisper. 

That gets the tears going again now now not only are my lips wet, but so are my cheeks.

“This is” _kiss_ “the most” _kiss_ “romantic” _kiss_ “shit anyone” _kiss_ “has ever” _kiss_ “done for me.”

When he finishes peppering me with kisses, I take my chance to kiss his forehead. He lies on top of me and we just stay there. I rub circles into his back while he runs his thumb along my hand.

“Why did you tell me it was weird when I touched your face the other day?” he asks.

It feels like I’ve been waiting forever for that question. “I was scared to say the wrong thing.”

“And that was the right thing?”

I laugh. “No, but it’s more than a little scary to tell you that I’m in love with you when I have no idea what’s going on in your head.”

“How did you not know?!”

“I was maybe a little too focused on my own bullshit to notice.”

He scoffs. “You got that right.”

“I tried to stop you at the beach, you know.”

“Why didn’t you? I told you how I felt. Why didn’t you?”

“Because if I grabbed you right then and there, I wouldn’t have known what the hell to do next. I’m not exactly good at this stuff.”

He squeezes my hand. “Well, do you know what to do now?”

I shake my head. “I don’t, but I’m gonna do something anyways.”

“Oh?”

“Be my boyfriend.”

He raises his head to grin at me and I know without him saying so that it’s a yes. He squeezes my waist and starts kissing my face over and over again.

Banging on the door. We freeze.

“Alright, time’s up,” Pidge yells. “You better not be banging on my bed.”

Lance looks at me. “What did you tell her?”

“Not that.”

He gets off me and calls back, “We’re banging on your floor. Huge difference, Pidgeon.”

I hear her screech and she barges in. We’re both upright and I’m a blushing mess. Pidge scans the room to make sure everything is where it should be and nods. “Alright, you’re free to go.”

“What if we had actually been doing something?” Lance asks.

“I would’ve killed you.”

“Pretty sure you would’ve died before you got the chance.”

“Honestly, you’re not wrong.”

I pack up my guitar and throw the case around my shoulders. Lance intertwines his fingers with mine and leads me back downstairs to where everyone is.

We exchange presents and there’s the crinkling of wrapping paper every time anyone so much as moves. Matt and Pidge immediately pull their new shirts over their heads. Hunk tears up and nods at me in appreciation, vowing to guard it with his life. Allura holds her earrings up to the light and her eyes twinkle with them. Shiro flips through his new book while Allura peeks over every once in a while. She’ll take it from him eventually I’m sure.

Matt was the one to fill my stocking to the brim with candy and Pidge made me some speakers for when I “don’t want to shove my headphones in like an emo loner.” 

Hunk gives me a blender as well as a recipe book about smoothies and milkshakes. He definitely gets how lazy I am when it comes to cooking. 

Allura gives me a folder of _The Black Parade_ sheet music she printed out that she fully expects me to play before she leaves. We all crack up at that one. It’s just too appropriate.

Shiro slips me a $20 instead of giving me a gift. I’m not complaining. He helped out with Allura’s gift and he gave me the guitar before. That’s more than enough.

After food is eaten and dessert is set up on the table, Matt, Shiro, Allura, and Hunk go to surround a game board in the middle of the living room. They moved the coffee table out of the way because apparently this group of people doesn’t know how not to get rough while playing games. Pidge and Lance settle down easily in the empty spaces and pick out their pieces.

They all look to me and their faces are the world.

Matt is sure he’s going to beat me.

Pidge is ready to rob everyone and possibly murder if anyone gets in her away.

Hunk is chuckling at something said on the TV.

Allura is mouthing the game rules she just learned. 

Shiro is beaming, proud of me and the people I’ve surrounded myself with.

And Lance?

Lance is looking at me as if I’m the most fascinating star in the universe.

“You gonna join us or what, Mullet Boy?”

They scoot over and let me take a space that I didn’t think we could make possible. Somehow they made it happen just for me. Sure, personal space is becoming an issue and it’s hard to hear everyone over the voices of the people next to me, but getting to be here is the best part.

 _This_ is comfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhhh! It's done. Holy crap! I can't believe it. I've never written something this long in my life and I finished it. If you don't wanna read any sentimental ramblings, skip the next section.
> 
> ***  
> I started this at a time I just started taking time off of college. I didn't know what I wanted to do and I was deciding whether or not I was gonna drop out. I first came upon Voltron and loved the Klance ship, so I decided to write what I knew. 
> 
> This started as a project to really help myself through this time, and I'm proud to say I'm going back to school this fall. There's nothing wrong with not going back, but it was the right decision for me. In the end, this became a way to show myself how far I'd come in my life. People might say "it's just a fanfic," but to me it's something special that I get to hold up to myself when I don't feel all that great. I hope it helped someone else out there who might've been feeling a little lost. You're not alone.  
> ***
> 
> Okay, less sentimental stuff! Here's my pre-season 7 gift to you all (if you feel that way I guess?)! Thank you everyone for reading this to the end. It was a pleasure to write it and I hope you guys liked it as well.
> 
> I'm working on a new fanfic right now and I'll be releasing the first chapter sometime after season 7 starts. Need to get some of that precious canon info on my boys. Bye for now!


End file.
